


Rust and Ice

by Sombraline



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Asgardian Tony Stark, Friends to Lovers, FrostIron Bingo 2019, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 73,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sombraline/pseuds/Sombraline
Summary: Tony's first thought when he regained consciousness was that he had fucked up.Well, no. His first thought was that, holy fucking Norns his side hurt. He felt as though his flesh was being torn apart by Hogun's spiked mace. Heat and pain were running in every direction with no escape and he was vaguely suspicious that he was the one making that low pathetic sound in his ears.Then, even as his more-brilliant-than-average mind was all occupied by the spreading agony, then, he remembered vaguely, and he felt, and then came the brutal conclusion : he had fucked up so bad. Hel, they all had.A story of friendship, war, honor, and deciding to do what's right.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 40
Kudos: 55





	1. Rust

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this work is tagged as Frostiron Bingo 2019. Which means that it should have been finished in May of last year. Yup.
> 
> Featuring Asgardian!Tony Stark and his bothersome morales, Loki saving everyone's butt for a long time and eventually growing bitter about it, Thor being a loveable idiot but an idiot nonetheless and needing to do some growing, and some Midgardians hanging around.

Tony's first thought when he regained consciousness was that he had fucked up.

Well, no. His first thought was that, holy fucking Norns his side _hurt_. He felt as though his flesh was being torn apart by Hogun's spiked mace. Heat and pain were running in every direction with no escape and he was vaguely suspicious that he was the one making that low pathetic sound in his ears.

Then, even as his more-brilliant-than-average mind was all occupied by the spreading agony, then, he remembered vaguely, and he felt, and then came the brutal conclusion : he had fucked up  _so bad_ . Hel, they all had.

He managed to open his eyes, against a light that felt absolutely blinding, though he felt it burning more through his skull than his eyes. And when he did, he saw a man in a black leather coat standing by his side with his arms crossed over his chest. The stranger looked young, barely an adult, but he had an eyepatch beneath which scar tissue spread out in a criss-cross pattern. He looked at Tony with evident impatience, like Tony had made him wait.

“So, you're finally awake,” the man said. His voice echoed in Tony's skull and he winced, but the stranger didn't seem to care. “It was about time. I hope you know how badly you _fucked up_.”

Yeah, this was not a pleasant wake-up.

* * *

Thor was fond of Earth; had been for centuries now. The crowned prince was not the most constant when it came to what he enjoyed, and Tony was objective enough about his friend to suspect that Midgard would lose Thor's interest before the millenium was over. It wasn't exactly a bad thing either. Thor was so passionate, it felt only normal that his attention could burn away faster. As future All-Father, it was actually quite good that his passions had brought him in turn through Alfheim, Nidavellir, and now shiny Midgard. It was probably because Odin could see that Thor was learning without even noticing it that he allowed his son's continued expeditions through the different realms.

Every few months, Thor managed to get a furlough from his trainers and instructors. Whenever he did, the prince was quick to gather the Warrior Five as well as his little brother to bring them along on another of his adventures. It was lucky that Tony and the others were seen with a good eye by the King himself, or he felt that their regular escapes from their duties would have been a cause for trouble. As for the second prince, well, Tony had no idea if Loki was simply granted the same permissions as Thor himself, or if he had less duties to attend to. There had never been much between the two of them since Tony, the latest, had joined the little gang : all noble and cold, the dark-haired prince hadn't exactly seemed like prime friend material.

Now, whenever they travelled, there was no way to know what they were going to run into. Sometimes, it felt like actual holidays : they would visit inns, try local foods and drinks, and, usually, by the end of the night, be worshipped by the entire town. It was a little disdainful to look at humans that way, maybe; but even Tony, whose grandmother had been a mortal, had to admit that the population of Midgard was -endearing. They grew so terribly fast, going around their life in a permanent hurry, and were always so amazed by Aesir strength and power. It was hard not to get a boost to the ego from visiting them.

Sometimes, still, adventure found its way to them, even on the primitive realm. In the first few centuries, it had been familiar : frightened villagers pointed them to the cave of an ugly troll, or even to the occasional storm giant who had made its home in a windy mountain and devoured the sheeps and goats of the terrified humans. As time passed, though, the creatures of old had made way for more complicated, unpleasant battles. Humans multiplied and chased monsters out of forests to better turn those into fields and cities. The villages were no longer lost and isolated, and the local kings and lords grew more arrogant, demanding to meet Thor, and asking where he came from.

Tony had thought the start of political trouble would mean the end of the trips to Midgard, but Loki had stepped forward then, and spoken for them. The prince was hard to approach, but he was certainly the best of their little band at playing the part of court games and banters that turned challenges and confrontation to pleasantries and friendly deals. From one time to the next, Loki remembered the different tribes and countries, the heirs and the ancestors, as well as if he was drawing charts of everyone they met.

“There,” he would say when he came back to them where they waited, not quite hiding his self-satisfied grins. “The lord Geirrod welcomes us in his land once more. We will have good rooms and a fire tonight.”

“He had better welcome us,” Thor would reply, scoffing. “Although, I hope the rooms and fire won't be all we get. We have many of those at home. Have you asked about what fight needs to be fought in this day?”

Loki would sigh or even ostensibly roll his eyes. Though he and Tony had never quite interacted any more than to set up a tent together or to decide who would skin the deer they were about to eat (and it usually was Tony, because, unlike Thor, Loki did not think that royal privilege ended at the castle's walls), centuries had made Tony familiar with Loki's habits. He was usually one for comfort and luxury rather than adventure and making do. Most days, it felt that the prince would have rather stayed home than travel along with them; he certainly didn't go out of his way to help Thor find action. But he did join his brother and the Five without fault, time after time; it was evident that he was secretely enjoying the adventure.

As for Tony, well. If he were honest, then he had to say that he, too, would have picked a warm feather bed and the castle's feasts over cold muddy feet and Midgardian mosquitoes. He didn't quite enjoy playing soldiers as the others did, but then, out of them all, he was the only one whose military training had stopped at the basics when he had been recruited as an assistant to the great Völund, Master-Smith of the palace. He was, generally speaking, better at crafting weapons than at using them. Still, so long as the adventures were spaced out enough that he could get his fill of hot baths and complete meals between them, he was as willing as Fandral to let his beard go untrimmed for a few days at a time. The joyful rivalry, adrenaline and glory of their fights were usually worth the trip.

Even as Earth became a constantly changing landscape of kings and tensions, Thor, the Five, and Loki always found something to be done that was worth their immortal time (and the locals' eternal gratitude, of course). The descendants of their favored humans were always battling for territory and goods; they were more than glad to have Aesirs at their side when they went exploring beyond the great waters. Thor enjoyed battling the terrifying sea monsters as much as he laughed when terrible storms shook the langskips like Njörd himself was stirring in the deeps. And when they made it on foreign shores, well, there were other enemies waiting for them.

“It seems wrong,” Volstagg had said once, around a campfire, eating an enormous piece of meat from a creature they had just killed, which looked like a deer, if not for the fact that it was much bigger and had not been informed that deers were generally preys, not predators. The thing certainly had put up a fight. “Slaying giants and serpents, I don't mind. But these were humans the same as our friends.”

“There are bad humans as there are bad everything,” Fandral had pointed out. “This is not so different from when the Allfather's armies fight rebels or marauders. Even men like us can be fiends.”

“But they are not like us,” Volstagg had argued.

“Well, no. They're enemies.”

“I think what Volstagg means,” had said Hogun, his low voice commanding attention, “is that the fight is not fair. When we battle with mortals, then the side we chose is the side which wins.”

There had been a brief pause, as there often was when Hogun said anything: it was a rare enough occurrence that they usually all took the time to consider his words carefully.

Tony had been quiet, sitting a little to the side as he cleaned their prey's bones. He had shared Volstagg's concerns for quite some time. The Lord Geirrod was an ignorant bastard, though his father had been a noble friend of theirs. The blood in his veins didn't make him more virtuous than his fellow mortal men, nor did the fact that their first travels had brought them to the Northen Lands make the Norsemen more worthy of victory than the others. But then, neither of them was prepared for this moral debate: the short lifespans of humans made it so strange to see the face of allies changing so quickly, and the mortals themselves were so unimportant. They died so fast, with or without aid. What difference did it make, if they chose to play in their games and tilted the balances?

“They are given their chance to fight valiantly,” Thor had said at last, shrugging. “The Valkyries select the warriors worthy of Valhalla from their courage and strength, not the side they die on. But I agree nonetheless that fighting humans is not worthy of us,” he had added a little grimly. “It is too easy a victory.”

“Those skraelings we saw earlier didn't make the fight easy,” Sif remarked, and they all had laughed, the tension briefly broken. “They certainly had archers worthy of the Vanirs. Had their arrows been made with stronger heads, then our dear Volstagg would not be there anymore to debate their right to live.”

“I don't remember being hit more than any of you!”

“I stopped that spear that was going for your head,” Prince Loki remarked quietly. He sounded a little bitter, sharpening his knives without taking part in the meal, and nobody replied. Perhaps the others had not heard anything, or perhaps, like Tony, they doubted the Prince had actually been as useful as he claimed. They all knew him to stand as far from the melee as he could, using his illusions and knives to avoid the dangers of battle -even in little Midgard.

“It's simple observation, o Voluminous One,” Fandral had jested cheerfully. “They had more surface to aim at in your case. Why, at some point, you had at least five arrows sticking out of your mighty buttocks alone!”

“I would not let myself be so easily caught showing the foes my vulnerable side!”

“Oh no? Stand and let us see how vulnerable the back of your pants look now!”

It was how concern died, with the certainty that it didn't all matter much. Odin himself never warned them to stay out of humans' affairs as he did with Vanir or Dwarves. Even if there were mortals who would complain of their interferring, then how were they to retaliate against Asgard from their tiny forgotten world? It was all in good fun, after all.

Years bled into centuries bled into eras. Tony had been mistaken to think Midgard would soon be forgotten. 

Thor reached his five hundred years name day with grand celebrations and was given more duties: he had his own little lands to take care of in practice of his future role as king, and was asked more and more often to go along with the Allfather on diplomatic trips to distant regions and foreign realms. It was always a cause for celebration when the prince came back. In his absence, Tony didn't see the others as much: they were attending their training or going on hunting trips while he worked the smithy with his master. It was only when Thor demanded they meet him at the tavern or in his own private rooms that the Five reunited, and Loki as well.

The younger prince, Tony understood, wasn't sharing the training of civilians, even elite ones such as the others. No doubt he had his own duties to attend to as well, though Tony didn't quite know what a second prince was supposed to be doing other than stand beside his brother. He supposed Loki trained in magic, too, as he never seemed to be out of new tricks to play during their adventures, but he himself didn't know anything about seiðr practice. The pictures that came to mind when he thought about it usually involved naked women dancing in the moonlight, which he suspected was more fantasy than fact. It probably would not have been a good idea to ask Loki, who always looked at him with equal parts disdain and disinterest, like he was an especially stupid servant whose presence he had to tolerate.

Probably not personal, though. Loki looked at everyone that way, except Thor and, he supposed, their parents. Tony didn't know him to have any friend outside of their little crew -and considering how he would only interact with them if he had no other choice, it was quite telling.

Tony didn't think there was much about him that justified such disdain, anyway. He was of lower birth than the others, safe for Fandral, but his being selected by Völund as an apprentice was certainly impressive enough; and though Asgard was proud of her old families, the realm had always praised personal accomplishments above ranks in most things. Though he was not as great a warrior as Thor or Sif, he was a decent fighter by himself and worked marvels with the other three; and more importantly, just like Sif or, he supposed, Loki himself, Tony was constantly proving old stereotypes wrong.

Women were not supposed to fight, but Sif was a fearsome adversary; neither men nor nobles were supposed to do magic, and they were supposed to use axes or swords, yet Loki only gave up his spells when he used his throwing knives or his spear. Thor boasted often enough about how he had encouraged both his brother and his female friend to use their own strengths, and both would usually retort, in a rare agreement, that they had never needed him to prove themselves.

Tony was neither a seiðrmaðr nor a woman and he was a decent match for the others with his own short swords; but his true strength resided in other talents, which his master called genius and the army called cheating.

Tony had not been the first man to imagine using blast of energies as weapons: most of the castle's skips had a laser cannon as a basic defense system. But that was all it was -a _basic_ system. The Aesir saw no pride in a weapon that could be used from a distance, with little to no training; even today, the most talented archers of the realm struggled to receive half the recognition a regular swordfighter did. It took the forced distance between ships for Asgard to condescend to using such honorless weaponry as _guns_ , and even then, one was not to boast for their kills with the primitive thing.

Tony had given it a lot of thoughts. It wasn't that he shied away from close combat, though he was not as bloodthirsty as it sometimes felt the rest of the kingdom was. Yet he just felt there had to be a better way of neutralizing enemies than to slash at them with sharp objects.

Völund thought his inventions were brillant, a rare compliment coming from the old smith -but even he didn't think that Asgard was ready to see their value. His master had allowed him to build his prototypes nonetheless, encouraging him to try them in the field, and later to constantly improve them.

Thor and the others had not been sure what to do of his first attempts. The prince had seemed wary, as if concerned that Tony's use of a firearm would somehow diminish his own glory as a warrior. Fandral had openly asked Tony if he felt he wasn't good enough with a blade, and Sif had actually said running from the field was no way to better oneself. Loki had watched Tony silently, his sharp eyes seeming intrigued. Either he had been curious, or he had wondered how badly this would end. He-witch or not, even the second prince regularly made sure to prove he _could_ do close combat and simply _chose_ not to.

Tony had steeled himself, and when they had fought -not on Midgard, that one time, no, but in a real campaign, where they accompanied the army in a push to arrest and chase a group of bandits from the eastern hills-, he had been ready. His armor, although yet experimental, had awed and amazed. There had been nobody, at the end of the day, to deny that his weapons were in no way that of a coward.

“You didn't tell us it allowed you to _fly,_ ” an enthusiastic Volstagg had said, giving him a strong pat on the back that made them both wince as his large palm slapped the strong gold and dwarven steel alloy. “These bandits didn't even know what happened to them.”

“I actually stopped to watch you,” Sif had said, her voice full of approval. “You were like a falcon, diving into them, then fighting like a berserkr. You showed them, Tony Stark!”

“What does that make you?” Fandral had smirked. “Tony the Armored? Tony the Soaring?”

“I'm not sure I want to join in on this naming thing you guys have going on,” Tony had laughed, thrilled by the fight as he was by the relief of the others' approval. “What do you say, my prince...s?” He had added the plural at the last instant, finding that Loki was in fact standing right next to Thor, for once. He usually only called Thor prince or highness in a playful way, so used as he was to use his first name. In the heat of battle, he called Loki by his, too; but he usually didn't need to address the second prince at all, and his brief hesitation as his joke died hadn't gone unnoticed.

“What's making you so official?” Fandral had laughed. “Are you trying to be knighted?”

“This is a wonderful armor,” Thor had replied, thankfully not seeming to pay much attention to the mistake. “It suits your fighting, Anthony. I'm honored to have you with me in battle”, he had smiled brightly.

“It suits you indeed,” Loki had said, and not added anything. His eyes had been serious, attentive; no doubt he had considered for a while if Tony's address was some sort of offense, as he was prone to see them in everything. Half-expecting a biting retort, Tony had been startled when the prince had actually commented: “I heard the bandit leader call you _Iron Man_.”

Tony didn't think then of how Loki could hardly have heard the bandit chief speaking while he himself stood ten paces away from the fighting. It was odd enough to hear something almost friendly from him, and Tony had paused, considering the name.

“It's not accurate. It's dwarven steel and gold,” he had noted. “It does have a nice ring to it, though.”

“Unlike Man of Steel,” Sif had said. “Iron Man. I like that.”

“Oh, you do? The Lady Sif and the Man of Iron?” Fandral had smirked.

“Don't start a new fight when the first one is just ending,” Hogun had warned as Sif had narrowed her eyes, and Thor and Volstagg laughed.

The approval was given and it had been time to move then, to give one another pats on the back and to start boasting of the victories as the soldiers around them gathered the deads and chained the prisoners. They had gone back to Asgard, triumphant and merry of the new adventure, Tony no less than any other as men in einherji armors looked at him in amazement or nodded approvingly at him. Iron Man, he had tought. It definitely had a nice ring to it. It had also been the first time he had seen Loki apparently giving two thoughts to anybody outside of his family, and he had been weirdly flattered.

Loki's own five-hundred-years celebration came a little after that; it felt like something less important, following Thor's party so closely. Tony heard there was a feast inside the palace, but Fandral was out of the royal city for a family gathering that occurred every fifty years or so, and he didn't feel much like hanging alone with Hogun and Sif, since Volstagg would be eating rather than speaking. Thor complained for several days after: Sif herself had suffered from a headache, she said, and had not attended, leaving the prince nearly alone with elven diplomats. Even a dozen years later, he would still bring it up, shaking his head as he spoke of a coming-up feast and said he hoped it wouldn't be so boring.

“Nobody forced you to attend, Thor, as far as I remember,” Loki had retorted impatiently. Though with years he was becoming more and more of a master at forging his words into precisely what he wanted the people around him to hear, it was also more and more common to hear his voice snap around short, irritated sentences he threw at the Five or at his own brother like they were not worth his time.

“Come now, brother,” Thor had said, “it was absolutely awful. I don't know why Father burdened you with all those elves at your celebration. Surely you were disappointed too.”

“The elves,” Loki had said, with a mix of a hiss and something sharp and precise, “were there because I asked Mother to bring them. They are scholars of Alfheim's oldest library and battlemages of renown. I was not _disappointed_.”

“They were such boring guests! They didn't laugh or drink, just spoke into the late hours.”

“What are battlemages?” Tony had asked quickly. Perhaps it would have been best not to get involved in the two brother's tense exchange. But the question was actually intriguing, and most importantly, it felt like the only safe way to defuse the situation before it exploded.

Tony and the other four usually shrugged at the second prince's sudden outbursts and at his offended arguing, and avoided any discussion when either the Queen or King's actions were debated by the pair. Thor, for some reason Tony didn't understand, always argued back with his brother, then in turn grew either annoyed or saddened that Loki would not see reason. Even to Tony, who didn't know Loki quite well, it was evident that his strange interests were no less dear to him than Thor's own enthusiasm for battle, hunting or feasts. Though he didn't know much about magic and rarely cared, he was sensible enough to recognise that the prince would not react well to seeing his fellow practitionners scorned -and one angry Loki was a dangerous thing.

Loki was vicious in arguing as he was in fighting: it did not stop as his words, no matter how sharp they were. Though Tony didn't actually fear that Loki would turn his sharp blades or vicious spells to his allies, the prince still made sure to make his resentment known. There had been time when Thor and Loki had fought, and the younger had stayed away for weeks, sometimes months; and though the other four sometimes claimed it was a relief to be free of his scoffing and rolling his eyes, it was decidedly harder to seek allies or battle without him. In fact -and it was a thing Sif had once suggested far from even Thor's ears-, it felt in a way like Loki, in his anger, had used his sorcery to bring bad luck upon them while he stayed away. On one such occasion, all in the span of a three days trip, Fandral had been badly wounded, and they had been soaked by rain colder than they had ever felt, badly enough for Hogun to catch a terrible cold. A strap of Sif's armor had snapped, their matches had been soaked and left them without fire even as the storm had calmed, and a wild animal had devoured their provision at night without Volstagg, on guard duty, noticing. Tony didn't actually believe Loki had a spell for bad luck, but he wasn't entirely ready to claim it was all coincidence.

Loki and Thor had both looked at him, and there was a tense silence. Thor seemed confused as to why he had interrupted. Loki had narrowed his eyes at him almost suspiciously. It was only the three of them, sitting at a table waiting for Sif to join when she would be finished with her daily training. The tavern was quiet, most people still working or studying for a few more hours. Tony had almost expected that, if he had looked up, he would have found even the waitress staring at him.

“I mean, I understand what scholars are,” he had said after a few painfully awkward seconds had stretched out.

It had almost looked like Thor would say something, and Tony had wanted to kick the heir to the throne under the table. But Thor had stopped himself, and looked at Loki. Loki had looked back at his brother.

“It's not that hard to understand,” he had said after a split second of tense silence. “They're seiðrmaðr who specialize in offensive spells.”

“Like you do?” Tony had tried to sound casual, not like he sort of feared to find his wine had turned to snakes in his cup as reward for his questions.

“The battlemages are an elite.” Loki's shoulders had remained tense, but he had seemed to do a conscious effort to calm himself. He looked like the string of a bow being slowly released instead of fireing its prepared defense. “I'm no more a battlemage than Sif is a Valkyrie because she's a girl who fights. They go through centuries of rigorous training before they can bear the title.”

“Are they that strong?” Thor had seemed to decide to be diplomatic, for once; or perhaps he had just never wondered about it before.

“There's a reason Father wants Asgard to keep Alfheim a close friend,” Loki had replied, almost with pride. “It takes a regiment of trained soldiers to face a battlemage, and even then, if he is a truly good one, his victory will be easy.”

“Can you train with them, then? It would be good to strengthen your magic! Oh, do not be angry,” Thor had said quickly, seeing Loki stiffening again and glaring at him. “You know what I mean. I do not make fun of your illusions! They are a great tool -it's just, they hardly kill the enemy on their own, do they? You need our help for that.”

For a moment, it had seemed like Loki would actually punch Thor. It would have been stupid and useless- even as five-centuries-old, it was becoming evident that Loki would never grow into a stature like that of his brother, and he would probably have hurt his hand if he had managed to hit him-, but Tony was concerned he would try all the same, with the way his jaws clenched while Thor made his remarks. Loki wasn't keen on being told that his illusions were not enough, even if it was true. But before he could have either of them hurt for his offense, the door to the tavern opened and Sif walked in, loudly greeting them. She had dropped a bag heavy with armor and shield at their feet and called to the waitress to make her order, oblivious to Loki's tension. For an instant, the table had been quiet, the she-warrior glancing at the three of them in surprise, and then Thor had shaken his head and smiled.

“Don't mind us, Lady Sif, we were speaking of battles. How was your training?”

“Why, my training was fine, but if you speak of battles, you need not stop for me. I was hoping we'd speak tonight of whatever disaster happened to you all in Midgard the other day, when I wasn't there to do all the work!” She had grinned easily as she sat next to Loki, giving the prince a brief nod before turning back to Thor. “What was that about? Did the Krishan god show up with his followers?”

“Christian,” Loki had corrected simply, his voice back to calm and disinterested as though it had not been so heated before.

“Nay, the mortals on the other side of the sea expected us,” Thor had laughed. “I don't know who told you it was a disaster. Our humans retreated, but we fought valiantly.”

“Oh, is that how Fandral had his hair all burned off? I've never seen him so embarrassed.”

“Ah! Certainly it was the worst wound he could have suffered!”

Thor had laughed, and Sif too, and even Tony had had a little smile; Fandral was truly wounded in his pride from the incident, but it was quite funny how half his mustache had been burned off. Still, as the other two had started speaking of the chaotic battle, he had found himself looking at Loki, whose hands were carefully folded on the table, belying his previous anger. And he had realised that, though he didn't want to provoke the prince, he was in fact curious about what he had spoken of.

“Those battlemages,” he had said, and Loki's eyes had narrowed at him. “What sort of things do they do?”

There had been a brief pause; Thor had looked at them, and Sif too, a ghost of a smile on her lips distracted by the unexpected conversation. Loki had not looked at them. His eyes on Tony had been unblinking, almost disturbingly scrutinizing. Then, after two or three long seconds, he had shrugged.

“I doubt you would understand anything about it,” he had said at last, disdainfully.

“Try me,” Tony had found himself replying before he could hesitate.

Evident surprise had crossed Loki's eyes, then he had reigned it in. Why, Tony had thought, why was he so guarded? The others didn't ask, and they didn't care. He knew that. But they didn't ask about the forges, either, and Tony didn't stop himself from chatting about his projects even if they usually didn't understand much. He complained and bragged about his craft and the others sometimes laughed at what seemed so abstract to them, but he made them understand, at least a little. Loki, instead, seemed to keep his unknown craft like a dragon its hoard, as though it would be damaged if they were to pay attention to it.

“They don't materialize naked elven ladies or mead on the battlefield,” the prince had replied still. “I don't think it's of any interest to you.”

“Rude.” Not inaccurate, but rude. Still, Tony had felt a little encouraged by what felt like a joke from Loki -and not one of his sharp, embarrassing ones, either. “But for real, I'm curious. Are you serious about that winning against one regiment thing?”

Sif started speaking again, wanting to know the details of Fandral's dramatic pride-wound. Thor joined her, and it was back to Loki looking at Tony, for just a few moments too long for it to not be weird.

And then, he had said at last:

“I am. Only a fraction of their powers are known outside of their ranks, but even that is near unbelievable to one who doesn't know seiðr. For one thing, they're nearly impossible to kill for non-magic users.”

“How does that even work?”

“It's very simple, and incredibly difficult, from what I gather. You know how einherjar shields are spelled to strengthen them?”

“Well -runework, I think. Yes? Lots of it. Master Völund asked me once to engrave a shield for Lord Aegir with hundreds of sigils made with Algiz and Tiwaz. I just did the carving, not the enchanting, but I figured it was a more complicated version of the einherjar ones.”

“Ah -so you see.” Loki had actually seemed to light up a little, his head lifting from his shoulders even though Tony had thought he was sitting straight. “Well, it's easy enough on metal. But battlemages can't afford to lose mobility with armor or shield, so they use runework -or rather, a sort of it- on their own body.”

“Like... What, tattoos?”

“Some of them. But the most advanced form is linked directly to their _blood_. It's extremely delicate and dangerous, but, if it's done right-”

Tony had never seen the prince sounding like he _cared_ about anything before. His explanations, more and more passionnate as it became evident Tony understood at least some of them, were actually fascinating, and he had found himself spending the rest of that afternoon learning about witchcraft's rules and those foreign wizards Loki so wanted to learn from. It had been a much better afternoon than expected.

After that, Tony had felt something shift in their little band. Loki had always been standing next to Thor, addressing them only when he suggested they go a certain way or when he wanted to make reproaches. From that moment on, though, Loki would now and then walk or ride next to Tony, and pick a seat by his side when they sat in a tavern or at a host's table. He would usually be quiet until Tony started conversation, and he had wondered if it was possible for a prince to be shy; but after a few months of this, the prince had grew more accustomed to chatting with him.

They would discuss enemies, bad weather, or Volstagg's lack of grace while eating; on the best days, Loki would speak of what spell he was hoping to master, and in return Tony spoke of the adjustments he made to his armor. Their companionship had been something new and fun, Loki's clever wits actually hilarious when they were not hurtful, his opinions leading them to speak even of philosophy or literature. Caught off sometimes by Tony's lack of knowledge, Loki had turned out to be a good tutor, summarizing complicated concepts or pages of history Tony suspected had represented months of teaching for the princes to learn about in just a few words. In return, the prince had seemed genuinely interested everytime he had asked about smithing, and Tony had once been startled when Loki had made a pointed question about bloodsteel without any prior conversation justifying his knowledge.

“What?” Loki had said, finding him staring.

“Nothing, it's just... Did you ever watch a smith do it? Tempering blades with sun dust is a pretty rare practice. It's _only_ done for bloodsteel, and only for short blades or spikes.”

“I read about it,” Loki had replied with a guarded expression. “But the recordings are imprecise. I don't understand why they suggest daggers done like this are bad. Wouldn't they be strengthened by the process, as spears are?”

“Well,” Tony had said, at a loss for words for a few seconds, and then he had scoffed, incredulous and pleased. “Ah -well, I've never done it myself. Master Völund doesn't trust me with spears yet. They're mostly for people who don't use them, but are even more insufferable than you about imperfections on their blades,” he had said, and Loki had laughed. “But, well, the theory is that the dusting makes a weapon more precise, but it has side effects. If we were speaking of your knives, for instance...”

And the others had noticed the change in Loki, as well; it had not been long for Hogun to ask when Loki had become so talkative. Sif had taken Tony aside to ask what he had done to the cold prince, that Loki would let himself be talked to in such a familiar way. They had shrugged it off, wordlessly agreeing not to question why it had taken this long for their friendship to develop nor to discuss their years of neutral companionship. Tony had not wanted, either, to put their affection into words, for fear that Loki would think _this_ was too much familiarities.

Thor himself had laughed it off many times, joking of how Loki now would always follow Tony like a puppy or suggesting that he was growing obsessed by the art of smithing (“You're always so intense, so suddenly, brother!”). It always seemed to irritate the second prince, but he didn't refute any of it, just rolling his eyes and saying that it wasn't his fault Tony, of the whole band, actually had something to speak about beside eating and fighting. The bantering had continued for years, but eventually, it had become something normal, that the others didn't think much about. When Loki was missing, now, they were equally likely to ask from Tony or Thor why the prince wasn't joining them that day.

It had lasted so, and life had followed its course with this small change soon becoming something that had always been there. Tony worked his skill and slowly went through his apprenticeship, eventually getting his master's permission to take his own commissions in his free time. He kept improving his own armor, too, and it became a renowed thing, a curiosity that travelling lords sometimes asked to look at and admire. Despite the general approval, though, Tony's own armor remained the only of its kind; most warriors didn't care to trade the familiarity of the blades for something that was so evidently branded with another man's fighting style, and when, twice or thrice, a foreign god asked him for a similar technology, he had found excuses to refuse anyway. The rich lords would have made the armor a piece of conversation in their faraway lands, and despite the publicity it might have meant, Tony had been reluctant to even consider the thought of another Man of Iron than himself.

Nevertheless, his renown had grown with centuries past. When he celebrated his thousandth nameday, drinking with his friends and dancing with beautiful girls late into the night, he had what queen Frigga herself had called a promising carreer ahead of him. Though he had been given the right to have his own business as a smith, he had chosen to keep working in Völund's forges. There, during the day, he would forge blades or sometimes jewels for rich patrons, collecting a nice little fortune he was pleased to invest back in his own projects.

“I heard King Freyjr himself compliment your work,” Loki had said one day, after quietly watching him sharpen his blades for nearly twenty minutes. Even though Thor and the others cared for their own weapons as any warrior did, they regularly asked Tony to do a maintenance check on their preferred piece of equipment. Tony refused their payment, pleased with the knowledge that he made sure the group had the best possible weapons at any given time. “He said Mjölnir was even more beautiful now than she was when Thor received it. Thor bragged about those arm protectors you made him, and Freyjr was amazed.”

“That's quite the boost to the ego,” Tony had grinned. If he was fair, it was quite the honor to tend such a piece of dwarvish craftmanship as the uru hammer -but he had also worked hard to master the care such a weapon needed.

“He actually asked about hiring you,” Loki had said, sounding insistant. “He was speaking with the Allfather of the new mines project, and he interrupted to ask about you.”

“For real?” Tony had let go of a short, pleased laugh, before holding the blade he was working on to the light of the sun, checking for any imperfection in his job. “Well, that would be amazing. I'm not sure what he would have me do with his antlers, but maybe he's looking for a replacement to that flaming sword he gave away. Oh, or maybe he wants to make a gift to Freyja. That would be an interesting challenge-”

“Tony,” Loki had said, with a sort of impatience that was unusual of him, when they were alone. “He didn't mean to buy a blade from you. He wanted to know if you would go to Vanaheim and work at his service.”

Tony had frozen, and his stone had scraped his finger instead of sliding on the blade. Lowering both, he had looked at Loki and found him staring back, eyebrows quirked.

“Are you serious? Are you being fucking serious, Loki? What did the King say? Why didn't Thor tell me? When was that? Fuck!”

It was inacceptable in many ways to swear in front of royalty, let alone swearing while addressing them, but he had felt too shaken then to care. Working for Freyjr. Being in the direct service of the King of Vanaheim. It was an incredible position, one he never even imagined having in Asgard, let alone in Vanaheim, who usually only trusted dwarves to forge for them. Had Freyjr said this from looking at Thor's arm protectors, really? They were just a pet project, meant to help the Thunderer master Mjölnir's sometimes brutal returns to his hand. He had improved the craft since, had incorporated it to his armor to diminish shocks and backlashes in the field. Heck, if he had known, he would have given Thor an improved version. Or he would have equipped him with something prettier, more ornated-

“Odin replied with pleasantries and turned the conversation back toward the mining project,” Loki had said. He was eyeing him attentively. “I suppose Thor either forgot, or did not think it was relevant.”

“Of course it's relevant!” Tony had felt dizzy, half-standing up, as though he should have been running off to catch with this impossible chance. In his mind were flashing all the things he knew about Vanaheim's smiths, some of them famous, some of them merely showing up in his books as the inventors of technics or crafters of renowned blades. They had castles of their own, estates. A royal smith would be incredibly rich, would have access to materials beyond anything he could purchase with his salary here; Völund himself sometimes scoffed about how he should have quit Asgard ages ago to sell his craft to rich Vanir merchants. There, he said, blacksmiths were truly appreciated for their skill, not cast in the shadow of the warriors who used their pieces as in Asgard.

But Thor had said nothing, and Freyjr had left Asgard two days prior.

“He should have told me!” He had cried out incredulously, now fully standing up. For the first time in his many centuries, he felt genuine fury toward Thor.

The older prince was charming, golden and inspiring. But really, did he have any actual quality? His easygoing attitude was nothing if it was not actual carelessness. His bravery and confidence were more often than not simple arrogance, a reckless tendency to laugh in the face of danger and never think of consequences. He professed pride and approval, but when had he ever done anything other than add the glory of his friends to his own like so many shiny trinkets? Tony's chest felt filled with something boiling and corrosive as he suddenly saw his friend's praised qualities for the attitude of a spoiled brat that they _were_. He could just see it, how Thor would have proudly shown off the pieces of armor and laughed it off and never even considered, never even _realized_ that this was the chance of a lifetime for him, because Thor could never imagine what it was like to be of low-birth, what it was to earn one's own gold and fame without everyone simply bowing to him in adoration he had never done anything to _deserve_ -

“Fuck!” He had yelled and barely just refrained from kicking the fallen blade. He balled his fists furiously, overwhelmed by rage and shock, by the strength of his own successive hope, horror, and anger.

“King Freyjr went back home without asking further about you,” Loki's voice had pierced through what felt like the poisonous mist that had gotten to his mind. He looked calm, although still attentively staring, when Tony had turned back to him, disbelief and anger getting to him as he faced his indifferent looking friend. But Loki had given him no time to steer his resentment toward him. “He wouldn't have. He's easily distracted and my father gave him little enough opportunity to think of anything other than the business at hand. But he was impressed nonetheless. If you were to write to him to offer your services, and if I sent the letter to make sure it reached his own hands, then I am quite certain his offer would stand.”

Tony had been about ready to snap, ready to yell at Loki and tell him that it was really fucking annoying how he always sat on his high horse and treated everyone, even he who was his only friend, as if they were beneath him. He had been angry enough to actually say those things and more, to say that he would never make more friends by being so haughty to everyone, and that it was no wonder that even civilians snickered about the second prince behind his back, and that he could play jealous of his brother all he wanted, but it would not make him into less of a coward. That Thor may have been careless, but he wasn't a sneaking, attention-hungry he-witch.

He had been ready to yell those things to his friend, and Loki had stopped him, with that same tranquil voice as always, to finish the news he had begun to bring.

The anger had deflated faster than it had come. It left behind something awful, like the fire in his chest had burned a shameful mark inside of him; and at the same time, hope rose inside of him anew, fueled by all the things he had had the time to think of as lost to him, and that perhaps were not.

“Y-you think that?” He had asked, and his voice had wavered. Shamed by those things he had not said, but almost had, as if Loki could have felt them somehow. Shamed by the way he had yelled against Thor, in front of his brother. Shamed to have let that angry, selfish part of him he had never known was there to the surface.

Loki had actually smiled then. A precious little grin, the furthest thing from the always annoyed, always controlled facade he showed the world most days. It was the smile he gave Thor, when the two brothers got along, when Thor laughed at Loki's magic snakes scaring somebody or when he slapped his brother's back in pride after a great victory. No, Loki had not suspected that Tony had been about to insult him. He looked terribly proud then. It occurred to Tony that Loki was _pleased_ to succeed where Thor had failed, and his shame burned harder at the memory of those vicious things he had thought.

“Freyjr likes me,” Loki had said. “We discussed poetry and the beauty of nature nearly every night he stayed in Asgard. He seemed to truly appreciate my company and said he hoped I would write to him soon. His interest in your craft was genuine, if easily distracted. He'll be happy to hear from you.”

“Loki, that's...” And Tony had fallen silent, unable to end his sentence.

It was incredible. Though he had been furious an instant ago at Thor for not forwarding the offer to him, he was no less incredulous that Loki actually _had_. A discussion between kings and princes was something more serious than Tony would ever attend, something polished and full of rules and dozens of things to pay attention to. Thor had only spoken of Freyjr's visit to complain that the endless opaque considerations of treaties and business and laws were exhausting, when they did not simple give him headaches. Of course he would have been pleased to show off Mjölnir and get from Freyjr the familiar admiration of anyone who looked at the mighty hammer, and he would have later forgotten about it. It felt _so_ like him.

And it felt so like Loki, to remember what Thor had forgotten. Except, usually, he only used what he had memorized to tell Thor how dumb he was and to roll his eyes in condescending disapproval. Tony had never known Loki to spend time and efforts for anything that was not directly useful to him or to their current quest. And he had done it for him.

It was incredible. It was an opportunity he could never had dreamt of. It was his friend using his title and influence for him. For something Tony had never known he wanted until now. It was-

Far more than he deserved.

“You actually think Freyjr was serious?” He had asked, but his words had been shaky. It wouldn't be a promising future, it would be a glorious life. It would be the chance to get everything he had ever wanted. And if he got it, it would all be Loki's doing, and he would know it every instant of his life, know how he had been ready to call him a jealous coward, know that he had sincerely thought as much.

“I know so,” Loki had grinned. “What's with you? You're as pale as a draugr. Don't pass out now.”

“Loki, that's,” he had tried again, and had managed to make himself laugh. “That's insane. Me, in Vanaheim? We've only ever been in the plains. I've never even seen in a Vanir village, let alone the royal city! Can you imagine me there?”

“Yes, quite easily. You'd be like a fish in the water over there. They would actually appreciate your work, too,” Loki had added, with a shrug that didn't make his words less... caring. “I could visit you regularly, anyway. And Thor, and Hogun as well, and surely the others. You would not be thrown into the unknown.” He had smiled. “What do you say? Shall I write to the king?”

_Yes_ .  _Please_ . But Tony had shaken his head, feeling that ugly scar still pulsing in his chest.

“I -I don't know, Loki. That's amazing, but -this is big. I would... I would think about it.”

“I've never seen you searching your words like this,” Loki had laughed, misinterpretating his uneasiness. He picked up the sharpening stone and the knife, and he handed them to Tony with that same rare, proud smile of his. “Take your time. Now or in twenty years, it won't change much. For all Freyjr has a short attention span, his interests are constant.”

“And you think I should do it?” Tony had asked, with something that demanded too much effort on his part to be called a smile. “Are you trying to get rid of me that bad?”

“I'm not chained to Asgard like Thor. I could visit you,” Loki had chided lightly. “I would miss meeting you at the tavern and I would certainly miss having you along on these ridiculous adventures. But...” His own smile had turned a little and he had looked up at the sky above. “Things are changing, nonetheless. I doubt Father will allow Thor this much freedom for much longer. He will be a thousand years old soon and has yet to sit with the council for a proper meeting. I can't imagine we will continue to take these trips for long before he is made to take responsibilities.”

“You will still have the others,” Tony had said, but it had sounded stupid even as he had said it. “Fandral likes you. And Sif may not show it much, but she has respect for-”

“Please.” Loki had not even sounded mad, just bitter. “They think I'm just tagging along. Like I'm a little boy they have to endure if they are to be with my brother. I'm sure the others will keep travelling when Thor is chained to the throne, but...” He didn't finish his sentence, and eventually shook his head. “They'll just have to do without me, if they are without him.”

Tony hadn't known what to say about this, his uneasiness growing yet another head as he felt stuck somewhere between his old friends and Loki's disdain for them. The Warriors Four wouldn't mind Loki's absence, he thought. They would probably not notice it, for all Loki did when they fought or camped or travelled. But he didn't say any of it.

“I can't imagine Thor chained to the throne,” he had said instead, the idea of such a future feeling as a very strange one. He knew Thor would be king, and knew the day he would sit in Hlidskjaf was growing ever closer, but it still felt very far in the future. Then again, that idea was perhaps reinforced by Thor himself acting like his entire life would be one of adventure and battle, with any obligation in the council rooms seeming like a heavy burden to him. It was no less true that he was growing close to his thousandth nameday: no more than fifty years after Tony's own, which was coming quickly. “You really think your father will make him?”

“I can't see Thor taking his responsibilities by himself,” Loki had said instead of replying. It was harsh, but not unlike him, and he actually seemed more tired than vicious as he said it. “He acts like law-makers are boring old teachers and foreign diplomats are distant family he doesn't care to see visiting. Like he will do whatever he wants when he is king. I don't know why our father is even so indulgent. It will make him all the more reluctant to learn when it is time.”

“Perhaps he simply wants to let Thor have his fun while he can,” Tony had suggested, but even he had seen the truth in Loki's words. He could imagine how Thor would react to having his princely duties pushed unto him, how he would groan and drag his feet and get into those bad moods of his when he flipped tables and yelled at anyone foolish enough to approach him. No doubt it would be an unpleasant clash between the stubborn prince and the unwielding, stern will of the Allfather. “What about you?” He had asked finally. “If I'm in Vanaheim and you come visit me. What else? Will you be getting more duties too?”

“I'm second prince,” Loki had said. His voice didn't hide his bitterness, his face full of that same disdain that seemed, this time, to be aimed at his own title. “My duty is to be at my brother's side. To help him if the weight of Gungir should become too heavy for him and to steady his hand if it is to tremble. There are a lot of paragraphs about it in the old texts of law, considering I'm the first second son in the history of the royal line. But, yes. I'll be more busy than now, I suppose.” His lips pinched a little. “I've been speaking to Father about letting me go to Vanaheim myself for some time. I was hoping that, with Freyjr's favor, I could study with the battlemages before all this. But there are more important things to tend to first, he told me.”

Tony had grimaced, failing to find reassuring words for his friend. But Loki was shaking the matter off already, seeming a little embarrassed as he realised he had complained about the king to a civilian, and he had switched the topic quickly, asking Tony instead what he _would_ actually do to replace Freyjr's flaming sword, and they had spoken no more of the future on that day.

Months had passed, and he had battled with his own mind nearly every day of them. Leaving Asgard was a thrilling, frightening perspective. Loki's offer, if it came true, would have Tony far from everyone and everything he knew; yet it was the best chance he would ever get at being a renowned blacksmith. He didn't speak of his dilemma with anyone, the true reason of his hesitation unspeakable. On some days, it felt absurd to feel so guilty for things he had not even said out loud. But whenever he came to imagine taking his chance, taking Loki's help to make himself the best he could be without ever letting Loki know he had thought so little of him until then, the guilt grew in his belly, and he pushed his decision away.

Loki himself hadn't spoken of it again, once or twice giving Tony a questioning look when the topic of a conversation came to the commissions he was making or Völund's upcoming retirement. He seemed certain of Tony's decision, and merely amused by his long hesitation. When it was just the two of them, he would sometimes repeat now familiar praises in an encouraging tone: that he had never known a blade-maker like Tony's, and that Asgard didn't appreciate him nearly enough. He would sometimes even put his hand on Tony's shoulder or the back of his neck, a fraternal gesture Tony didn't know him to initiate even with his own brother; he always seemed almost a little stiff about it, like it made him a little nervous to be the one to offer proximity.

Thor had not ever mentionned Freyjr, nor had he seemed to even think about Tony leaving. The blacksmith, despite his regrets at his own outbursts, felt there was something broken in the way he looked at his old friend, now too aware of how the prince failed to look at any other than himself. He could see now how Thor forgot things, nodding along and then having no memory at all that Fandral's grandmother was sick, that Hogun's left shoulder was slow to heal after a mean hit or that Sif had had to push away a rude courtier. Perhaps it shouldn't have been so hurtful. Tony knew well, even without Loki saying so, that Thor had worries of his own to pay attention to. It was becoming more evident in his behaviour, in the annoyance he showed after classes and meetings and his father's time with him. But it didn't change the selfishness he had seen despite himself in the prince.

Winter came and went. Tony felt a door closing on him, the chance to make a choice slowly drifting away. He busied himself in the forge, spending endless hours on each piece he sold, making them perfect in every detail and better in every way, as if crafting wonders would take the decision out of his hands. In long evenings, he looked at his own armor, at his latest experiments and sketches, and struggled to improve his weapons in ways he had never known.

The distraction of a trip to Midgard had come as a relief. Thor had announced he was taking the Bifröst down to good old Earth. Heimdall said there was quite a lot of agitation down. The humans were no longer small factions and clans; they were large countries, interacting in a spiderweb of alliances and rivalties. Thor had persuaded his father to give him a full month off for the trip, and he had insisted on all of them coming too.

“It will be like the old days,” he had said, his smile so bright it seemed far from the shadow and lines of irritation that had painted his face these days. “Ah, and there will be no worries of finding enemies to match our strength. Heimdall speaks of weapons fearsome even to gods. The mortals improved much since last we went!”

So they had all gone, indeed. It had been over fifty years since they had last seen Midgard. What they found was a shock. Tony could see what was fearsome; he didn't know about improvements.

Though they were naturally ambitious, though they were always ready to fight, humans had always seemed to him as somewhat _cute_. Innocent, in a way. It was how all of them saw the people of Midgard: so short-lived, so puny, yet so passionnate and proud. They were a young people, still fumbling around their own planet trying to understand the mystery of their world and their place in the universe. Yet, when they stepped out of the rainbow bridge and met a much changed realm, what he saw was that the fumbling had turned to something sinister, a sort of crawling, urgent avidity like blind eyes and hands full of claws grasping hurriedly at the weakened planed.

They had chosen to land in the New World -though it was no longer new in the eye of any of the humans alive today. The Bifröst had brought them in a desert, with a scalding hot sun above them shining on all their armors. Thor had been in a cheerfully agitated mood, holding Mjölnir to his side like he couldn't wait to find something to throw it at.

“Where are we?” He asked enthusiastically. “The big land? Africa, yes?”

“No,” Loki had corrected. He had followed, of course, interrupting whatever he had been doing these days -Tony hadn't seen him in over a week- and he was squinting at the sun uncomfortably. Loki didn't like heat -he couldn't handle Muspelheim for longer than a day, and though Midgard didn't compare, it was still hot weather for their leather and iron. “Heimdall _told_ you. We're in America.”

“Isn't it supposed to be full of forests then?”

“Another part of America.”

“Which one? New France or the, uh, twelve colonies? Or is this the South one?” Sif was looking around, her shield raised above her eyes. “I see no wars. There's a small town over there, I think, but... The air is quiet.”

“The colonies are _states_ now,” Loki said, but even he seemed a little unsure. “Heimdall said we would find one of the leaders of the fight here, but I am uncertain of what we are looking for. You didn't give me a lot of time to prepare.”

“I care not what they call their king,” Thor had shrugged, smiling. “All I care is that we find our allies, and they show us where the fighting is. We'll end this war of theirs and celebrate! Let's go to that town and ask.”

They barely had the time to start moving, though. The Bifröst was in no way subtle, and evidently they had been noticed. They had not made it half of the way to the distant shadow of habitations before unfamiliar growling sounds came from the sky and gave them pause. Hogun was the first to point at small arrowheads in the sky, like gigantic birds having no need to flap their wings; Thor lifted his hammer, and Loki put a hand on his arm.

“Planes,” Tony said, smiling in amazement. “They're flying machines! Those were hardly prototypes when last we came, but look at those trajectories. They're in full control.”

“We're still assuming they are our allies, right?” Volstagg asked apprehensively, putting his hand on his axe.

“We'll see that soon enough,” Thor grinned. “I hope for them that they are.”

The planes were indeed coming closer; as they approached, Tony realised the planes were of a kind he had never seen on any realm: there was something spinning above it, causing the growling sound that had alerted them. It looked like blades rotating at an impressive speed, visibly holding the craft in the air by its continued movement. How, he thought fondly, amazingly ingenious.

There were three crafts, and as they came toward them, the sound of their engine became truly deafening. They waited, on the look-out for something like an attack; the humans may have been in control of their crafts, but evidently the manipulations were still to be perfected. It took a near ten minutes for the three vehicles to find land and for their rotors to stop spinning as small figures came out of them, distant of them by a few dozen meters. In all, five humans appeared: evidently, the crafts weren't meant for big crew, though it was likely pilots and reinforcements could be hiding inside. The mortals were dressed in black, without any visible armor, and most of them were holding what were probably guns pointed toward them. Tony figured they should be careful around those, considering what progress manned flight had made in the last half-century: they were probably looking at something more impressive than the slow-loading one-shot weapons they had last seen in old Midgard.

One man didn't have any weapon. He was evidently in charge, which made his choice to be unarmed either suspicious or intriguing; though he seemed vulnerable as his soldiers were, the clothes he wore were different, with some sort of insigna and colored lines upon the left side of his chest. He was an older, pale Midgardian with grey hair and tired lines under his eyes, like he had just been through a very long day. Or perhaps a serie of long days.

“Good day, people of Midgard,” Thor greeted pleasantly. He was smiling widely; whether he was about to engage enemies or to join allies, it was evident he was in a great mood. As always, the prince seemed much more at ease on the field than he did in the palace. “I am Thor, son of Odin. The guardian of my realm, All-seeing Heimdall, sent me to Earth to face most dangerous foes in fair battle.”

The soldiers were quiet, stiff and pointing their weapons, but their face showed various levels of disbelief and incomprehension. The leader's expression didn't change, amazingly, other than by a raised eyebrow.

“Right. Sent you to Earth. From where?”

“My companions and I are from the realm eternal, Asgard.” Thor was clearly amused by the suspicion of the military group, and he turned to his friends with an unabashed smile: “They forgot again, didn't they? It was time Father sent us.”

“You are a general of the United States army, yes?” Loki was moving a step ahead of Thor, raising his hands in a calm, placating gestures as the guns were pointed at him in turn. “I apologise for our coming here unannounced. My brother and I are princes of Asgard, a faraway realm who ever kept a watchful eye on your world. We understand you are currently at war, and we are here to help, as we did many times in the past.”

“Princes.” The leader looked at them with a sort of displeasure that Tony found similar to Völund's expression when his master would find him wasting precious materials on unsteady experiments. “And where exactly is that realm of yours? Between Neptune and Pluto?”

“Much further than your own star system,” Thor said.

“We have been here many times before, general,” Loki continued. “Not for at least fifty years, I'll readily admit. But should you consult with your leaders, I believe you would find traces of our last passage in this country in the year 1888 of your era. We chased a frost beast, escaped from Jötunheim's plains, after it brought a significative storm upon the north-east region of this country. I'm afraid we didn't meet your, ahem, prime minister, emperor or president back then, but we did speak with at least one -governor, I believe.” It took Tony's familiarity with Loki to note the small irritation at the back of his voice as he hesitated on the type of government in place in the mortal land. He tried his best not to smile.

“Morita,” called the leader. Tony wondered if it was a word of aggression or peace, but the man turned toward one of his soldiers, without his eyes leaving Loki. “Get me Director Carter on the phone.” The man nodded and retreated to one of the aircrafts. The leader was still eyeing them. “1888”, he repeated, not making it a question, but not sounding convinced either. “And you fought the blizzard. With that?”

“Aye,” Thor said. He was holding to Mjölnir with pride. “The beast's carcass melted before it could rot. It was a fight to retell for the ages.”

The man -Colonel Phillips, they would learn soon after- just looked at Thor and didn't ask for a telling of the tale. Tyr himself would not have appeared so disapproving and tired at a foolish recruit. But it was not a long wait until his superior officer, the unseen Director Carter, seemingly agreed about Loki's claims. Speaking into an unknown instrument from the safety of one of the crafts, perhaps not realising that the Aesirs could hear him perfectly, Phillips argued that they had no reason to believe that a bunch of teenagers in armor and leather were actually benevolent aliens. The one-sided conversation did not reveal what Carter said. Thor was growing impatient, unused to being made to wait, and when Phillips finally came back to them, introducing himself at last and saying he would take them to meet his superior at the SSR, the prince was no longer smiling.

“How far away is it?” He asked.

“We're going with the helicopters,” Phillips said, definitely sounding more military than diplomatically inclined. “It means we'll have to split your little gang. It's not to separate you, before you ask, but those things can't fly more than three men at once. You didn't give us a lot of warning, as you said.”

“With all due respect, Colonel,” Loki said, “any of our group weights more than three mortal men, I'm afraid. But surely-”

“Just tell us where we are going,” Thor demanded. “We'll be there before you and your flying machines.”

“I am hardly going to disclose the position of the facility, son,” Phillips said. “I doubt you're that heavy, any of you. But if you insist, we can fly one of you at the time and the rest will stay here.”

“We will not wait so long,” Thor claimed harshly. “Either bring your leader here, or, if you're so scared of us, then point us to the battlefield. We have no time to waste.”

Probably not the best way to chat with new allies, but Tony just winced while Loki glared at his brother. They had, unfortunately, done far worse. Or Thor had. And as for those times, luck was on Thor's side.

Phillips called his superior again, and reiterated how suspicious he thought them to be: impatient and weird, likely to be spies or just madmen. Thor audibly scoffed at that, earning them nervous glances from the mute soldiers. Phillips argued some more that he had more urgent matters to tend to. He said something about how he should have been facing an hydra already, had he not been interrupted by the circus troop. There was a pause, and then, as often it had before, Midgard somehow bent to the prince's will.

“Boss says we can chat properly later,” Phillips said as he returned to them once more. “You claim you can travel as fast as the helicopters?”

“Faster,” Thor said. “There is an hydra here?” His tone was interested, but Phillips pretended not to hear.

“I'll point you the fight, as you said.” He actually did, turning and aiming his finger toward the East. “You guys in Asgard know about Tennessee?”

They did not. Loki shrugged when they looked at him, and Thor rolled his eyes, but Phillips gave them directions, in a gruff tone that implied he wasn't unhappy to be rid of them. How convinced he was of his superior officer's decision to throw them into the fight, he didn't show; he did warn them, in what seemed like an afterthought, that they should be careful.

“This is war, young men,” he said, his jaws squared and something grey and heavy in his eyes. “I don't know what kind of people you claim to be, but I know the bastards you're meeting over there, and I'll say what I think: I think you're being stupid, running into the fight unprepared.”

“We know what war is,” Hogun said. His grim face had Phillips look at him for an instant like he was searching to see if it was true.

“Well, you say you do, and the Director seems to think you know what you're about. But you're walking into a pit full of vipers, and I'd make sure to keep a way out if I were you.”

“In Asgard, Colonel, we don't look for ways out. We look for way through.” Thor grinned, beautiful, dark, the boiling of his blood turning him every instant into less of a prince, and more of the vengeful god of thunder the foes of Asgard knew to fear. “The house of Odin does not run from danger.”

Phillips might have felt the beginning of the transformation; the spark of bloodlust in the air as grey clouds gathered above, thickening the atmosphere around. Tony breathed in the smell of the coming storm, his own excitation for battle coursing through his chest and arms and urging him to grab a blade. It had been too long, it was true; this was in fact like the good old days, and he grinned at Loki. His friend wasn't smiling back, nor looking at him. Loki's shoulders were tensed, his own body preparing for the battle, yet without the excitation that was progressively gaining the rest of their band.

“How many enemies do you expect us to find inside their fortress?” He asked Phillips.

“Fifty. Sixty. We really don't expect more than eighty men inside, and most of them won't be armed.”

“You are at war,” Loki pointed out.“You have men, advanced war machines. You know the enemy's position in your own territory, and you don't expect much resistance from them. Yet you ask us simply to get inside and allow you access.”

“I hardly see how that is a challenge,” Thor said, his voice harder than his brother as Loki's words brought him to frown. “Is this some sort of test you would have us waste our time upon?”

“Our men have failed to take back the facility twice,” Phillips said. He looked no less tired than before, but for the first time, Tony recognised the warrior quality of his voice. He had seen his share of fighting, perhaps more than short-lived humans were meant to. “It is not their soldiers you will have to fear. They have devised defenses we cannot get through. They hide behind their walls and take our agents out before they have any chance to come close.”

“So they hide and lock themselves.” Thor shrugged. “That is the way of cowards. We will get them out of their hole.”

“Why are _they_ there, though?” Loki almost sounded like he suspected Phillips of being their enemy after all. “Hiding is a poor way to invade. The men inside, you say, are unarmed. Why would they bring people who are not soldiers?”

“You said you're a friend of this country,” the military man replied, shaking his head. “If you're telling the truth, then those men are your enemies. We cut off their head, but they're holding on,” he said, darkly, while Thor nudged Loki with his elbow and the younger prince ignored him, listening intently. “We are on the brink of winning this goddamned war at last. They know it. These people, the ones inside the facility, they may not know how to fire guns, but I guarantee you, they have much more blood on their hands than any of us who does. They travelled here, plotting to stage an attack that would have the United States blame their own ally. Our side would break and the war would be free to grow worse.” He looked at Thor as the prince hardly hid a sigh of agitation. “We discovered their plan in time. But they're still hiding behind these defenses of theirs, plotting who knows what kind of monstrosity. We kept our eye on them. Now, you want to help? Get them the hell out of there. You do that, I'll be happy to tell you about everything else.”

“We'll do just that,” Thor said, “and then you can bring us to the actual action. Come on, Loki. Let's _go_. Loki!”

“Fine. Fine!” The second prince tore his eyes from Phillips, and Thor's hand from his shoulder, where he had given him a shake. “Don't _yell_ at me.”

“Come on, Loki,” Volstagg said, his deep warm voice more gentle than Thor's, but his smile nonetheless full of excitement. “You heard the Captain. There is no time to waste.”

“I asked the _Colonel_ for sensible information. Like any soldier on a mission should,” Loki snapped.

Tony heard Sif sighing heavily -which meant Loki would have heard her too. The prince's jaws clenched as he turned to face her, and the humans straightened, as if fearing to see the Aesirs fight.

“And you did good,” Tony said before anyone could say anything else. Loki, he thought, as his friend's green eyes fell on him, didn't look like he was meant to fight. He was the only one of them to be immune to that excitation, to that fire. Was he really scared of it? Tony fought against the instant feeling of disapproval that responded to that idea, refusing to let himself think of Loki as a coward again. He smiled at Loki, hoping to defuse the situation and share his enthusiasm with the prince. “We know whose butts exactly we're going to kick. Will you take us there?”

Loki had stared at him for a few seconds, before finally huffing in what looked like resignation. Tony had given his shoulder a squeeze, and the prince had given him a tired smile in return, gesturing to Thor's turned back -perhaps meaning that his irritation was aimed at his brother, not him. They had gathered around him, weapons in hand, and they had seen Phillip's expression going from evidently wondering what in the Nine they were doing to pure disbelief as green magic had wrapped them all in its fabric-like arms, an instant only before taking them all away.

The hot sun and dry air lasted in their lungs and eyes, the teleportation ever more shocking and strange than the Bifröst was. Then, as Loki's magic released its grip on them, they found themselves on wet dirt, the air warm in a different way with recent rain and mossy smell. They were on a small unpaved road, surrounded by something too young and small to be called a forest, and the sky was a bright sort of grey like it had been waiting for Thor. And through the weak vegetation, over a simple turn in the road, they could see their target.

There was no hesitation. Thor grinned, and distant thunder rumbled in answer. He shifted his grip on Mjölnir's handle; the rest of them pulled out their blades in a hiss of metal that did no more effort to hide than Thor's scarlet cape as it caught in the fresh wind. This would be one of those fights under icy rain and drifts of cold air, Tony thought, and armored himself up.

His armor could fit into his gloves and boots alone, now, and unfold at his wordless command -it was one of his greatest improvements yet, inspired by the way Thor's own armor would materialize when he brandished his hammer; he felt excitation rushing through him as the metal boiled and bled over his limbs, covering his body like a second skin of metal and power, as light as it was tough, and he felt himself becoming the Man of Iron once again. His fingers clenched into fist, feeling with delightful adrenaline how readily his invention would answer him, how power rested patiently in his hand, waiting to be unleashed upon the enemy.

Loki was standing still, and his stance, with his feet apart and his elbows at his ribs, hinted that he was ready to fight, as well. He was detailing the brick wall and dark windows of the building beyond the trees. His hands were empty, though, and as Tony glanced, he saw him digging the nails of his right hand into the palm of the left one.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was a little distorted to his own ears, because of his mask and helmet, but he knew Loki would hear it normally. The prince wouldn't see him smiling, so he put a hand on his wrist in a gesture he hoped would feel encouraging. “Don't look so tense. This will be a few minutes' work.”

“Sure,” Loki replied. He didn't push Tony's hand away like he had Thor's, but he didn't look any happier.

There was no time to be wasted. Already, the Warrior Five were moving behind Thor as the prince advanced on the building, making no attempt to go unseen. Tony and Loki were last in line. The blacksmith caught up to the line formed by his friends.

If Phillips and his men had tried to take the building, there was no sign of any fight to be seen, no bullet holes nor even crushed grass. Everything looked quiet, almost abandoned. The facility, as Phillips had called it, was an unadorned mass of red bricks dirtied by the years, big enough to hold an hidden craft, perhaps, but probably not much more than that. A lonely grey door on the left side of the facade looked like it hadn't been used in years; it, too, showed rust and age. It certainly didn't look like anything important or dangerous would be happening inside. Finding it per chance, Tony would have guessed it was some sort of storage hangar, built then forgotten by the changing goals of humans.

“It doesn't look like there's even anyone here,” Fandral said, rapier in hand.

“The human said the enemy would hide,” Hogun replied, moving in his quiet, wolf-like way.

“Something is wrong,” Sif said. “If this placed resisted assault, then why are the windows-”

Intact? Tony had noticed the incoherence at the same time, as they reached no more than ten rangar away from the wall. Half a dozen dark square of glass, dirtied by water and dust, pierced the facade of the building; there was not even a scratch on any of them. It didn't make sense. Rocks or bullets or any siege weapon would have broken through those; heck, the defenders would have broken the windows themselves, to better aim at their ennemies without having to face them on the ground. Either this place had not seen combat at all, either, in fact-

Sif's voice and his bad feeling were cut at the same time. Fandral cried out in alarm; fire red and rageful like Muspelheim had surged from the very dirt right in front of him, flames as high as himself missing him but by an inch. They had no time to be shocked. At least four more geysers of fire burst from the ground in front of them, roaring to life with no warning sign.

Tony cursed and kicked the ground with his right heel; the armor took him off the ground. Volstagg cried out, but luck had saved him: only his beard was darkened by the fire. The fires, like gigantic torches, had appeared behind them too. Tony counted at least nine of the damn things; but as he was trying to find their pattern, half of them were extinguished. The ground was dirt and moss, with absolutely no sign of where the fire had surged from, or what had controlled it. Alarm hit him like the lash of a whip, realising the danger in this fact.

He had no time to do anything. More flames roared to life from unmarked spots as the first ones burned out, reaching into the sky with destructive rage.

It was a sinister game of chance, and luck couldn't be with them endlessly. They spun on themselves, looking for danger, and backed from a first torch to barely avoid a second one. Volstagg screamed a second time, jumping out of the fire; Sif turned, looking around her in alarm, and flames engulfed her worried face the following second. There was no respite, the fire going out and coming to life in the span of seconds, making every step a terrifying guess and giving them no time to reach their friend through the columns of furious flames.

Tony dove toward Fandral, the closest to him, intending to catch him at the waist and to send full power to the suit's thrusters to get him out of the way before doing the same for the others; but another geyser of fire emerged just in front of the blond, forcing him to change course at the last instant. He heard Hogun screaming something he didn't understand, and he had no idea if the Vanir warrior was in pain or calling after another of them. The fire was so instant and so rough that there was no smoke, but it left behind the choking smell of something chemical and powerful, and Tony's throat constricted painfully, his sinuses burning from the odor. He needed to get off the ground, he needed to breathe and then get everyone out of the open field, out of this awful trap they had walked straight into-

All the flames died out.

There was cursing and coughing; blinking away the afterimage of the torches, he could barely make out the staggering forms of his friends. Sif cried in pain, pressing red, blistered hand to her hair to put out the fire in it. Fandral was removing his gauntlets, hissing as the heated metal fell to the ground. Volstagg's axes were in the dirt, the red-haired warrior hacking and coughing awfully.

Though it had taken them by surprise, Tony realized with relief the fire had done no real damage: its temperature and the duration of its assault had been too weak and too short to actually endanger an Aesir. But had they been mortal men, they would surely have died.

Tony met Hogun's eyes. He seemed unarmed, but as shaken as he was; still, he was quick to snap out of his shock, rushing to Thor's side already. Tony's own heart stopped as he saw the prince's cape on the ground, made already unrecognisable by the flames devouring it. But Thor himself was standing, shoulders squared, without any visible sign of injury, and though his shock was evident, it was quick to turn to anger.

“Is this how you would fight?! Show yourselves, cowards!” He ordered, and with his booming voice came a furious exploding sound; thunder shook the sky, and rain started pouring furiously on the forest.

Tony shook his head, wanting to tell his friend to get the _Hel_ out of the way before the enemy could start their infernal sorcery again instead of provoking them. Even as he did, though, he was looking around, searching for Loki with increasing panic every instant he couldn't spot the green and black silhouette of his friend. When he finally saw him, he suddenly understood.

Loki's hands were in front of him, palm facing down and fingers spread out. His clothes were intact, his face barely reddened by the heat: fire had not touched him. He was out of breath, not coughing or gasping from the toxic smell like Tony, but more like he had just done an effort he had not expected nor prepared for.

The enemy had not stopped its fire. Loki, somehow, had.

Their eyes met. The younger prince's lips pressed together, with worry or anger or pain. Tony retracted the mask of his helmet on instinct, his mouth opening to say something, he knew not what. Loki shook his head, gesturing at Thor with his chin. Tony replaced the face plate. Now was not the time. The battle was not over.

The first strike had been the enemy's, and it had been treacherous and brutal, defying expectation. But what those men did not know was that a warrior of Asgard was never as dangerous as when he had been wounded. Tony's horror melted, and he made himself forge it into a bloodrage worthy of a berserkr. The cowardice of the tactic. His friends wounded. Thor's scarlet cape burned, a shame upon Asgard to be washed away by blood. Vengeance to be had.

The building seemed quiet as ever, like it had had nothing to do with the assault. Its apparent innocence, intriguing at first, was now an infuriating show of cowardice, like the dirty bricks behind which the enemy hid were mocking them. The rain poured down, drowning the ground and, hopefully, the infernal mechanic below. Thor's call went unanswered. The thunderer showed teeth, no doubt even more infuriated than his companions by the shameful action. He spread out his arms, defying any action from the invisible foe, then scoffing when nothing happened.

“Very well, then! We will _make you_ show yourself!” He cried out the last sentence, lifting Mjölnir above his head and bringing it down to the ground. The impact was brutal, and the building shook on its fundations; but Thor was just getting warmed up, and the next strike, lit by the tearing sky, went directly into the brick wall.

The fire had been too weak to hurt them, and the wall was not made to endure godly strength either. It broke as easily as if it had been made of straws, the brick structure shattering in large debris and folding in itself from the impact. Mjölnir came back to Thor's hand, leaving the facade torn open and broken bricks raining upon them. Fandral gave an offended 'hey!' when a piece nearly hit him, nursing his burned arm to his chest, and then gave a brief laughter. Adrenaline ran through Tony's blood, and no doubt his companions' too. This should be it -an actual fight, as they had prepared for.

Yet the dust fell into the growing puddles upon the ground, and the building went quiet again.

Through the opening done by Thor, they could see the inside. It looked empty, and it looked insignificant: stairs leading up, a desk, chairs set up like a waiting room. Nothing was moving.

“If those humans sent us here and there is nobody,” Sif began, her face angry and her dark hair looking awful under the rain and burned ends, but she didn't finish before Thor growled and threw Mjölnir anew. The left side of the wall crumbled, bringing down part of the stairs.

“There is somebody,” Loki said, his voice high and nervous in the low splattering of the rain. “They're underground. Moving quickly. I think they're preparing something.”

“They're trying to escape,” Tony understood immediately. Loki looked at him with a frown. “They saw they couldn't kill us so easily, and now they're attempting to leave.” He felt himself smiling, his anger slowly turning back to the excitation of the fight -the certainty that these humans, so ready to kill their fellow people so mercilessly, deserved to receive the full force of their ripost.

“Let's get them before they do, then”, said Thor.

“They'll pay for what they did to my hair,” Sif said, and though she had screamed in terror not an instant ago, she was smiling threateningly as well and the others burst out laughing, seeing the comical potential of the tale that would be told of this day.

“Aye, they will.”

Thor wanted to destroy the very floor to get underground; Hogun reminded him that Phillips had demanded they regain the building, not erase it, and it was already quite damaged by their grand entrance. Loki said nothing as they entered the dusty hall, stepping over pieces of brick and concrete carefully while they looked for a way down. Tony bet one gold coin that there would be a secret door, and Fandral, having put his arm protectors back on with a grimace, was the one to find there was actually a trap underneath the desk. Opening it revealed a concrete staircase leading into a dark, cold hallway which, after the fire, wasn't unpleasant to slide in.

“I don't like this,” Volstagg said nonetheless, after having had to push himself down the trap with some difficulty. “This is no place to have a fight.”

“We'll tell the enemy what poor hosts they are,” Tony jested. He was second to last in line, with Sif closing the way; there was no space to walk anything other than in single file. Thor had taken the lead, but they were making slow progress, and for good cause: it was entirely dark now, and the hallway turned out to be more of a tunnel, moving up, down, and taking sharp turns. There was only one direction, but they had to go slowly to avoid bumping into each other. “It is indeed very rude not to come meet us.”

“Shut up, all of you,” Loki said, somewhere to the front. “I'm telling you -something is wrong. I can feel something that...” Tony didn't hear the last of the sentence, though perhaps Loki had stopped himself. He sounded hesitant.

“I'm not fond of being underground, either,” said Hogun. “Can't you make us some light with your magic, that we at least see something?”

“That would be nice,” Thor agreed, his voice muffled. “It's dark as Niffleheim in here. I can't see where I'm walking.”

“Would you rather I use a firelight and burn all the oxygen here or a magelight that will take all my attention to maintain?” The irritation in Loki's voice covered any leftover uncertainty, now. “You're walking us happily into another trap, you idiot. They're preparing something, over there. I'm telling you. Something is waiting for us -something that _shouldn't_ be on Midgard. I can't tell what it is, but-”

“Yes, brother, well, we won't know until we get there, will we? Beside, the more we wait, and the longer they will have to prepare their traps.”

“Seriously, can't you make a light instead of trying to _feel_ what's waiting for us?”

“Just how far down are we going?”

They fell quiet, the continued darkness and offended silence the only answer that came from Loki. The tunnel was indeed taking them ever deeper into the ground; they were clearly still under the building, not getting away from it other than vertically. Tony kept his hand on the wall to his side, feeling the rough, cold concrete, its curved structure every now and then broken by angular lines as the tunnel had been harshly forced to turn more tightly. The floor was just as inegal, mostly going down steadily, but occasionally revealing a few inegal steps to bring them further down. It was just as well, Tony thought, that Thor had not simply brought the floor down on this; they would have blocked the way completely.

The house and the outside world were growing ever more distant. The cold air, welcome as it had been after the fire, was becoming unpleasant, making Tony's skin crawl under the metal of his armor. Everything was perfectly dark, his eyes even struggling to see Fandral's back in front of him. They moved quietly, with the occasional warning about the ground, or Sif hissing that she was getting claustrophobic.

Tony's own mind was less than at ease. He was thinking of the fire, its source invisible in the wet dirt; he was thinking that humans had been scared of digging the ground too deep for as long as he had known them; he was thinking of Phillips' aircrafts, unlike anything he had ever seen in any realms. Humans had progressed so much, he thought, in so little time, and he should have been admirative; but something was making him uncomfortable, too aware of how those ideas had served a war that seemed to be on a grander scale than ever before on the small planet. Were there any humans left whose life had not been shaken by this conflict?

There was something else on the back of his mind -something shameful and stupid, something he wondered nonetheless if the others thought about. The fire had startled them so completely. It had been too weak to hurt them, yes; but that was because the humans inside had not known them to be Aesirs. With all these new tricks up their sleeves, would the mortals finally reach a potential to rival their own? Would the fragile little humans be able, in fact, to compete? Would their old playground turn to a realm not to be visited lightly, torn by conflicts capable of degenerating into tragedy at any moment?

He was a warrior of Asgard, even if he was hardly the best of them. He didn't fear fighting humans that were as strong as he was.

But he didn't want to _have to_.

“I found a door,” Thor announced from the front of the line, eliciting various reactions of relief. Tony heard Sif unsheating her sword behind him. “It feels strong. Brace yourselves.”

Tony clenched his jaws and tried to root his feet in the ground. He almost hit the floor anyway, the shockwave of Mjölnir's impact making Fandral stumble back into him. He caught his friend by the shoulder, trying to steady them both. He had no time to ask what was happening. Loki said something in an urgent voice, and then there was a second _bang!_ , stronger than the first one.

The entire tunnel shook. Tony tried to catch himself on the wall, but this time, Fandral lost his balance completely and fell hard on him. They both landed hard on the ground, and Tony heard a terrible growl above, like the tunnel was about to crumble and bury them all alive.

He blinked furiously, and only then realised that a bright, white light had suddenly come alive, revealing the edge of the walls around them. The light source was invisible, casting its pale, artificial brightness upon Volstagg and what Tony could see of Hogun, both shielding their eyes with a grimace, but the curved path made it impossible to see Thor, Loki, or the way out that had been found.

Sif was helping him and Fandral to get back on their feet. Dust fell from the tunnel above unto them with a continued groan from either the structure or the earth itself, and she tried to push them to move ahead faster. But before Hogun even made a step forward, an unknown voice yelled something from outside of the tunnel, and, at its command, a dozen simultaneous explosions were heard, followed by a rush of continued commotion.

Guns, Tony realized, with what little part of his brain managed to work. The humans were shooting at them. They had waited outside the door Thor had just opened, and were fireing their weapons at the blinded warriors. No doubt well aware that the flames at their door had failed to stop them, the unseen enemy was shooting at will, the continued sound of the firearms covering everything else in a constant, deafening stream.

Maybe Thor yelled something; he couldn't be sure. He had closed his eyes reflexively, but now Tony saw bullets flying past Volstagg, ricocheting on armor or walls. Guns had not been able to wound them fifty years ago, but they had been weaker things then, barely able to shoot a few bullets at the time, sometimes hurting the shooter as they went. The weapons they were facing now were evidently past that restriction. How had they improved beyond that?

Volstagg rushed forward, and the light was suddenly brighter; in its presence, Tony saw an awful crack drawing itself in the concrete above Hogun. There was no choice. He pushed Fandral forward and Fandral pushed Hogun, and they poured out of the tunnel and into the chaos.

The room they stepped out in was a shock in more way than one. The ceiling was high, equaling the depth of the stairs they had descended and making him feel dizzy; the light was bright and burning, of a pale white that made everything seem unnatural, turning skin waxy and green. Inside, three rows of soldiers were facing them, arranged in a formation to better point at least twenty-five guns toward the incoming enemy. The detonations came five or six at the time, ear-shattering and spitting fire and metal at the six Aesirs.

Thor and Loki had rushed in first, pushing after the thick metal sheet that had once been an impenetrable door and was now a crumbled thing standing half-attached to its hinges. Loki was squinting so hard his eyes were barely open, his arms folded into a protective X over his torso and shoulders. As for Thor, the older prince was looking around, evidently just starting to see what was happening, and he made a terrible sound that was both laughter and battle cry and that, even through the deafening sound of shots being fired, shook the room.

Or maybe it wasn't Thor. Sif screamed, and Tony found that she had exited the tunnel just one of few seconds before it had caved in. There would be no leaving that way. The rumble of stone and earth didn't stop the fire; it seemed to make it more desperate, like the enemy was growing more determined to win now that they were trapped together.

And win, it tried to. Tony saw small metal tubes clattering at Thor's feet, pooling in evidence that the prince had been targeted in priority. He didn't know how the tubes were different from the round metal beads that had once shot out of firearms, but even as they were bouncing on Thor's skin and on the leather of his plastron, he could see how they bit at his exposed arms. There was no damage to be seen, not yet, but it was no promise that there was none at all. Though ordinary iron or steel struggled to cut an Aesir's flesh, it didn't mean there were no pain nor danger that it would eventually cause injury.

He felt the bullets hitting his own armor, snapping against the metal; he didn't know if they made a dent or a scratch, but he didn't want to waste time to find out. Sif pulled her shield in front of her and Volstagg gave a hearty laugh as projectiles bounced on his large armor-covered belly, effectively scaring the enemy soldiers, if one were to judge by their faces; but despite all this, Tony was the only one to have no exposed skin to be targetted by the shooters. He had to act.

Thor wasn't waiting after him. Showing teeth in a deadly grin, the prince started spinning Mjölnir in a rapidly speeding circle, advancing on his enemies. Tony could see one of the shooters yelling, though the words were lost in the commotions, but he could guess what they would be trying: aiming for the face, for the hand, for anything vulnerable enough.

He gave them no time to act, kicking his right heel on the concrete and flying head first toward the assembled soldiers. He crashed hard into a standing soldier and sent him hard to the ground with two of his companions; something hit him in the back, maybe the butt of one of the guns, but he didn't stay to check if more would follow. Pushing all power into his armor's thrusters, he took off, spun midway into the air and aimed his repulsors at the group. So nice of them to stand there in a big, no-miss target.

Thor sent one soldier flying into the distant wall; he fell to the floor and didn't get up. The rest of the Aesirs were joining the fight, and soon, the battle was raging on in a confusing, loud mess made all the worst by the fact that they were indoors, underground. Bullets ricocheted and detonations echoed for long seconds, and there was no distancing soldiers from one another or from allies to fight with any organisation. Tony could hardly fly in the confined space and instead took off from one end of the hall to the next, disrupting the fighters before they could try to organize or rethink their strategy. Volstagg and Hogun were forcing their way close enough to the soldiers to hit them with their axes or mace; Sif and Fandral, with their sword and rapier, stood with their back to one another, moving with agility through the agitation to slash at the enemy or occasionally forcing them back with a hard shove of a shield into their unprotected face.

The mortals, though, were quickly reacting. More men poured in, first from a door above a flight of stairs, then starting to shoot at them from above, over some sort of platform that ran around the entire room, finally storming through another pair of doors. Tony made it his mission to get the snipers out of the way; he ripped the weapons out of their hands or, when they struggled, shoved them over the guardrail and into a fifteen meters fall, once or twice having them land on one of their comrade.

From the corner of the eye, Tony could see an occasional flash of golden green, where Loki's clones dissolved as soldiers tried to hit them or shot through them and into their own ranks. He couldn't find the actual prince in the chaos, but every trace of magic was a sign that he was still alive and well enough to fight.

The guns were not enough to kill Aesirs, the humans were finding out. Tony hadn't paid much attention to how the newly arrived men's weapons were different from the others as he took them out of their hands, but there was no ignoring what came when one of them managed to actually use one. There was a scream that was less order and more warning; Tony had turned around to see a man on the other side of the hall, with some sort of ear protecting gear, pointing his weapon at him. The HYDRA soldiers around him had jumped out of the way, but he had had no time to consider doing the same. There was a detonation, and nothing happened for one startling, anti-climatic instant. Then, the projectile hit him with the strength of a mountain troll, engulfed him in thick white smoke, and sent him crashing into the guardrail behind him.

The metal barrier broke upon impact. He felt the ground disappearing from underneath his feet and wasn't aware of falling until he landed far below the platform. He blinked through bright spots dancing in front of his eyes, gasping desperatly to get air into his lungs. He could see his chestplate damaged, the red coating turned black with sooth and the dwarven steel cracked and broken in half a dozen places, like it was nothing but cheap iron. As he tried to get a better look, he realised some of the weight that was so heavy on his chest was actually his own armor, hundreds of pounds of gold and dwarven metal alloys and dragon bone gears suddenly pressing their whole weight upon him, enchantments burned away by the explosion.

_It can't be_ , he thought. He didn't push against the armor, lying there on his back, stupidly, with that simple disbelief in his mind. It was a mistake. A bad dream. His armor had never failed him before; how could it, today? What sort of joke, what sort of illusion was he failing to understand? He had built the armor himself, bettered it through the centuries, always ten steps ahead of the enemy. It couldn't be beaten. Not on Midgard, not today, not so stupidly.

His ears were ringing from the fall, or from the explosion. The battle was still raging, no doubt, but he couldn't lift his head up to check on his friends. He looked up, chasing away the lights in the corner of his vision, and though he had doubted it was even still beating, his heart felt as though it had fallen fifteen metres anew. Standing on the platform, the soldier with the ear protectors was adjusting something on his weapon. Tony couldn't see the man's eyes, his own vision too blurry to see so far, but he felt the man's attention shifting back to him along with the canon of his weapon, ready to shoot a second time.

He clenched his fists as hard as he could. The armor's inner runes and connections whirred and struggled, something in them too deeply damaged to power the thrusters in his feet and legs and pull him out of here. _Shit!_ He forced his arms up, putting his hands just over his face with his palms out, like a desperate protection. He heard the awful fire of the weapon ringing against the walls and echoing in his ears just as he felt the successful charge of energy gathering in his gauntlets and firing.

It hit the ceiling, barely scratching it. The targetting system had broken under the impact too.

He gritted his teeth, knowing the second hit would be the last one, knowing the armor had taken too much external damage not to break completely from another round; knowing that he would be torn by the powerful explosion this time, picturing perfectly how his body would be ripped apart by the force of it; knowing death was coming at him and imagining its horror and yet, yet, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth like somehow if he didn't accept it it wouldn't happen, like there was any miracle to stop the explosive aimed right at him.

The detonation managed to shock him, even if he had prepared for it. He cried out, but didn't hear his own voice. The world shook with him hiding inside, like a mad giant had taken Midgard and shaken it like a coin bank to get him out of it.

He opened his eyes, though he expected to see nothing if not his own guts and blood thrown out of his body in a gory firework.

Then he blinked, and frowned, and blinked harder, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again.

He was hidden under a blanket. Like a child trying to escape the monster under their bed. It was a soft blanket, or perhaps it was more like a bedsheet after all: it felt incredibly light, and silky, and fresh. And from the fabric came a smell that made him feel oddly comfortable, like pine or camphor or one of those things that belonged to both the great wilderness and the softness of home. And as he looked, he saw that the blanket was not simply delicately reflecting light in its folds, as he thought, but it was shining all by itself, its deep green surface crossed by gentle golden waves like a very quiet stream.

He had the time to think that it was odd that a death in battle would be greeted with rest, and the time to think that maybe it was some sort of test, to prove that he would not give in to peaceful rest, and the time also to think that peaceful rest was really not that bad after all, all in the span of the two or three seconds between which he stared and breathed in the smell and marvelled at it.

Then the blanket was pulled away, and just as suddenly as it had engulfed him, it was gone without a trace. Tony only now realized everything had fallen quiet with the protective sphere, as it disappeared from existence and he was suddenly swallowed back by the screaming, the shooting, the chaos. There was a taste on his tongue like metal and fire and the sky above was once more the concrete ceiling and its bars of sickly white light.

The shooter had fallen, now only a pair of boots sticking out from the platform. Tony forced himself to sit up, dizzied by the sudden return to action. His armor was heavy on him, damaged but still covering most of his body. Most importantly, there was not even a hint of pain in his middle, where he had expected to feel his flesh and guts coming apart.

The explosive had not reached him.

He had never seen magic acting as a shield. He vaguely remembered green bubbles Loki had once used as shield for himself, but it had been ages ago, and they had all laughed at the image it gave and Loki had quickly stopped with them. Some expensive wards enchanted into amulets could temporarily stop fire or swords, but he had never seen one stopping such a blast. How had Loki done this? He couldn't see him, couldn't find out if he would be smiling smugly or sneering at his foolish position.

An aggressive voice yelled, and suddenly he could feel small projectiles hitting his back, shot close enough to make dents in his armor. Which meant his warding runes had been damaged too, weakening the metal and leaving it vulnerable. The sniper had not managed to finish him off, but his allies were determined to make sure he didn't get back up, and Tony could hear boots hitting the floor nearby: he would be encircled soon, with his armor pinning him to the ground and keeping him still for the enemy to take their shots at him.

Well, he wasn't going to just allow that. He didn't even know if Loki was still around to throw more magical shields his way.

He lifted the hundred pounds worth of metal that was circling his arm and punched the release command near his neck. His armor disbanded immediately, helmet dropping to the ground with a metallic _clang_ as the rest of the pieces folded into his boots and gauntlets. He shoved those off in a hurry, cursing when he realised his upper body armor was too damaged to be removed as the rest. The shooters were getting closer, though, yelling to aim for his head, and he couldn't afford to let them do _that_.

He forced himself to stand. His legs shuddered a little under the weight of his armor, but he steadied himself and pulled his short swords from where they were tied at his legs. The twin pair of black blades caused a few of the enemy soldiers to back away as he turned to them; he showed them teeth and charged.

The fight was raging on, with the erratic, urgent quality of a battle nearing its end and all parties sensing it.

As shaken as Tony was by the danger he had been in, he poured himself into his bladework, and was pleased to find he had forgotten none of it. He might not have had the footwork or mighty strikes of his teammates, but his weapons were sharp and he had always been good at dodging hits and entering his adversary's personal space to better aim for vulnerable points. He took several bullets, all of them pinching and burning hard at his skin, but managed to cut down the wall of soldiers that had been advancing on him. Some of the humans were riposting with knives, and some held shorter, different guns; those he killed the most urgently, having no wish to find out if there were more devilish inventions to fear from them.

He could hear his friends and catch glimpses of them as they, too, pierced through the enemy resistance. Unexpected as the might of the soldiers had been, they had fought more dangerous foes, and Tony distinctly heard Thor's laughter and Sif's triumphant cries. They had not seemed to realize he had almost died -but to be fair, he didn't have the time to check on them, either. Only the occasional “Fandral, watch your back!” or “Well done, Volstagg!” were as many indication that the fight was slowly coming to its end and subsequent win. Despite this, it was evident Phillips had been mistaken in his estimations. Corpses were piling up on the floor even as the fight raged on, making him have to watch his feet as he danced between several adversaries.

As victory felt imminent, he tried to look around for the gold accents of Loki's black armor. He finally localized him, standing on a platform far above the ground, engaged in a rare physical combat with a mortal, both fighters armed with short knives. Even from the distance, Tony could see him gritting his teeth, taking a step back, appearing weary and stiff. Had the spell tired him out?

Tony spun and stabbed his two swords in the belly of a soldier who had been preparing to fire at him with an unknown sort of weapon. Shoving him off his blades and to the ground, he could count no more than a dozen enemy soldiers left standing in the entire hall. They didn't seem keen on surrendering, stubbornly trying to gang up on the Aesirs. Hogun was holding his arm to his chest with a pained expression and pushing back two men who had ressorted to trying to subdue him physically. There was a cut in Sif's eyebrow and blood pouring down her face, but she was grinning and even taunting her remaining opponents, arms spread out in evident provocation as they faced her. Volstagg was using the handle of his axe to hit a man in the face as no less than four others attempted to wrap some sort of chain around him, to no evident effect. As for Fandral, he was at Thor's back, and the two were encouraging whatever was left of the enemy troops to come at them.

Tony started to move toward Hogun, figuring he could use his assistance the most. But he had taken no more than two steps his way before an awful metallic grinding came from one end of the room, announcing some last sort of trouble before the villains would just die.

The hall fell quiet; Thor stopped laughing, and the enemy soldiers straightened, catching their breath, relief visible on the face of those who weren't wearing masks. A part of the wall had opened -a second win for Tony's secret door theory- and from what seemed like a darkened garage, a pair of metallic creatures were slowly walking in.

They were men, Tony realized immediately, normal human beings wearing armor a bit like his own; but whereas his suit was simply covering his limbs, theirs was using the man as a base and enhancing them into something much taller and larger. It didn't have a head, for the eyes of the man piloting the mechanic were probably somewhere in the chest of the artificial golem, and it advanced unnaturally, heavy legs taking what looked like oddly small steps for its size. Clumsy, Tony figured. Likely to fall. Which meant they weren't made for close combat. Which in turn meant...

“Watch out for their arms!” he yelled, but he was a second too late. The moment of awe and shock had passed; the fight had resumed. Though his companions might have paid attention to him, they had no choice but to turn back to their opponents.

Tony's guts twisted unpleasantly, his mind running, watching as the two mechanical monsters came to a full stop, and raised the strange canon-like things that were their hands. Two of them each, unknown effects, unknown strength, and if the things were unsteady on their feet, then perhaps the full weight of an Aesir man would topple them, but perhaps not; and if so, which one to run at? His blades were black glass, meant to stab more than slash, near useless against a strong metal, and throwing them would be of no effect, he was nearly sure of it. Aiming for the joint at the knee might delay one, but the two creatures were standing too far, a dozen feet apart, their four canons aimed at Tony and three targets behind him, three too many to stop them all. The one on the left was different from the other, there were metallic tubes like reservoirs; would he be shooting acid, gas or something else, vicious and unstoppable?

There was no way to stop both monsters. Tony cursed and ran to the left, his balance threatened by the broken armor on his back, giving him no chance to jump or dive for it; he was as fast as he could, hoping it would be enough to outrun the weapon he could tell was charging. He slashed both his swords on the left knee of the monster, twisted behind its back and stabbed through the right one. He felt his blades bending and scraping, one of them breaking into the armored leg before he could take it back. It had reached its target, at least, and Tony heard a scream as the metallic knee bent down, lodging the sword further into the leg of its occupant. The whole structure groaned and fell face first. Poorly designed, Tony thought with a savage grin. But then, perhaps they had taken them by surprise.

He grabbed his remaining sword. His victory was short-lived. Though it was beaten, the armor had fallen at a poor angle, and its canons were pointing the general direction of the last fighters. If the soldier inside activated whatever hellish weapon it contained, then it might reach them still. Tony stood hesitating, his remaining sword in hand, the urgency of going to destroy the second machine fighting that of ripping the tubes from the first one. He was too late anyway.

From the armor left standing came a sound that was oddly familiar, yet absolutely alien to him. He had no time to ponder about that paradox before both canons fired. There was no detonation, no explosion, not even a sound, in fact. Simply a pair of blue-white lines rushing through the hall, spreading like branches of a tree growing at impossible speed, hitting their target before any of them could have _moved_.

Sif and Hogun were the ones it hit. The weapon's beam, like the lighting strikes it parodied, lasted only an instant, but both Aesirs actually cried out in a horrible way Tony had never heard from them, before even their voice seemed to be taken away by the force of the blast. Hogun crumbled to the floor in a gasping mess. Sif stumbled back, agitated by brutal tremors, clutching at her chest like she was trying to keep her heart from breaking out of her ribcage.

The attack got everyone's attention. Tony's choice was out of his hands: he was already running and lunged at the second armor with his sword raised above his head, hoping to stab through the metal and to the pilot. He heard the others yelling, he thought someone maybe had called his name, but there was no time: who knew how soon the armor would be able to fire again? The artificial giant made a sudden turn. Tony's blade barely brushed its metallic shell, scraping uselessly to the side. He ducked just in time to avoid a gigantic hand aimed for his skull, cursed, threw every force he had left in his arms and drove his sword hard into the mechanical monster's side.

He felt something soft giving way under the hard metal, and grinned in triumph even as the hilt of his blade was torn from his hands by the sudden jerky movement of his adversary.

He may have seen his suit near destroyed and have lost two of his favorite swords, but there would be stories of this day. The battle had been harder than any of them could have imagined, but now they were winning, the final weapon of the enemy defeated, and soon they would be cheering about this challenge they had risen up to. They would speak of how the Iron Man had beaten those who, with skill far below his own, had sought to turn themselves into metal as only he had.

He took careful steps back as the erratic, pained movements of the man inside the suit made it stumble and creak. The fight was going on anew, he heard Thor yelling; once this armor as well was on the floor, then Tony would go help his friends, make sure Hogun was okay, grab the most important-looking guy amongst the enemy soldiers to deliver him to Phillip and enjoy the look on the old human's face when he would find them victorious...

“TONY! Move!”

It hadn't been Fandral calling his name after all, not before, not now. His eyes widened, trying to remember if he had ever heard Loki _yelling_ on the battlefield, not pointing out a target, not giving out orders, not making reproaches to Thor, but instead screaming like something was _panicking_ him. Was he in danger? Was he, impossibly, about to be wounded, unable to flee the enemy like he always did? Tony cursed as the armor still wouldn't fall in front of him, wouldn't let him look away from it until it was no longer a menace; if it could just die, that Tony could see what it was, how he could help Loki before it was too late...

“Hang on, Loki! I'm coming!” He yelled, taking another step back and cursing as the man inside the suit struggled to keep the damn thing upright. “Just give up, come on, you stupid-”

“Tony! YOU IMBECILE! THOR!”

He had just the time to start wondering if he was the imbecile or if Loki was yelling at the enemy who was giving him trouble. Something awful happened then, something that begun with the startle of movement in his back and that became an horrifying _crack_ inside of him. He didn't even understand at first, shocked for the odd second during which he felt nothing. Then, the first armor, the one he had defeated and turned his back to like an idiot, squeezed the pincer-like hand it had just closed on his middle. _Hard_.

Feelings returned to him with a icy, shattered glass sensation. He screamed and pushed back, but the metallic grip was unwielding, too strong for his bare hands to force off of him. Something in him shifted, something that he could tell without any medical knowledge wasn't supposed to be able to move, and he felt part of him that he usually wasn't even aware of suddenly coming alive with piercing agony. The monster kept squeezing, forcing against whatever was left of Tony's armor and the miserable resistance of his body, not yet satisfied with the scream and the pain and the breaking and clearly trying to _crush_ him. Tony had no more air to scream with, his lungs refusing to fill up as he gasped and struggled and pushed back against the inevitable, trying desperately to break free, kicking his feet desperately to try and find the ground beneath him...

His vision flashed, or maybe it was the other armor, shooting more lightning bolts at his friend. The despair of his own mind and the rasping of his breath were all he could hear. Burning green flames were at the corner of his eyes, just out of where he could see them properly. The armor abruptly released him, the ground brutally finding his damaged body. The man in the suit would step on him, he thought, using the weight of the damn thing to crush him to death, or he would fire whatever terrible thing was in its weapon right at him. He forced himself in a cry of pain to roll on his side, fell broken on his back with no strength left to fight, wanting only to look death in the eye before it took him away.

The pain was so blinding, he didn't understand what he was seeing for an instant. The armor wasn't facing him any longer. Rather, its upper body wasn't facing him. The feet were still pointed at him. But the arms, canons, chest, had turned a half circle. The armor was no longer moving. The pilot wouldn't have survived the brutal turn. Even with the armor being oversized, his upper body and spine would have been ripped off by the strength of the movement.

People were screaming, either battle rage or fear or calling someone. He couldn't process any of it, just staring at the monster that had been about to kill him and that had died before it could, executed in a merciless, instantaneous move. It could have been a mistake on the man's part. It could have been malfunction after Tony had damaged his armor. Except, in that strange clarity that came when the mind was frozen in the instant, Tony understood. He understood for the first time.

Twice he had faced death today. Twice he had been saved. As if per magic.

As if, really, they were just unlucky when Loki didn't come along. When they laughed and sneered at his standing back, far from the battle, watching like a worried damsel, and telling them not to be impulsive or to take risks. When they rolled their eyes, doubting his claim when he said he had stopped a blade or an arrow aimed for them, remarking that a single arrow or sword wouldn't kill them _anyway_. As if pure chance had arranged for that.

Tony saw it. It was really so obvious, actually, like something that was still for so long you never realized it until it moved. He, who had always taken pride in his being clever, in seeing far ahead, had been unforgivably _blind_ and stupid.

Sound slowly returned to his ears. He didn't move. His side was a raging fire, threatening to swallow him whole if he dared to even breath. The suit was motionless. The human inside, the enemy, dead. He would have won, actually. He would have defeated Iron Man. But Tony had cheated, and Loki had cheated, and Tony was alive, and the human was dead.

How many others? How many elves and men and giants dead because their strikes, no matter how strong, how precise, had oddly failed to bring down their target? How many times had Tony bragged about a victory that was not his own?

There was a cacophony behind. Metal, not simply falling but scattering. The second armor was down. Tony could smell storm; Thor had given the enemy a taste of its own medicine. Good. The others would finish off the soldiers. The battle would be won. Already, the enemy men were giving up: no more bullets were whistling through the hall. They would surrender, now that their war machines had fallen, he supposed. They would deliver prisoners to Phillips, their mission successful despite every awful thing on their way.

Except, hey, he was not sure he would be able to deliver prisoners. He was not sure he would be able to stand. Not right now. Maybe not again. What organs were there in that part of him that was hurting so bad? Liver? Kidney? The thing that had moved were his ribs, he was positive of that. He didn't want to think about it. It felt like just picturing it would make the pain increase. He had never been hurt so deeply, never had actually had the time to think that he would die. Not in the heat of battle, not seeing Hel's cold hands holding the enemy's sword, but damaged beyond repair, unable to sit or speak or breath.

He was suddenly far less ready to die than he had been a moment ago. He really didn't want to go like this. There was a lot of things he wanted to do. A lot of things he wanted to be. He didn't want to die understanding that he had never lived the life he thought he did.

A shadow fell over his eyes, and he processed the sound of a body hitting the ground next to him several seconds after it had happened. In the lost instant, he had been insulted half a dozen times. When he managed to focus on something other than terror and pain to realize he had been asked a question, he found Loki already trying to remove the remaining pieces of armor from him. The sorcerer was a pale shade of grey, his jaws set with either concentration or anger. There was a cut on his face, starting at the edge of his nose and going down to his chin. It looked a little like the exagerated make-up of a comedian, making a dramatic sad grimace on one side with the fresh, still red blood.

He was torn from this reflexion when metal shifted and pain exploded in his ribcage -or maybe in what was left of the ribcage and in whatever was the mess of broken pieces underneath. He cried out and grabbed Loki's hand to stop him, but already the sorcerer had stilled. His eyes were really big, white showing all around the green pupils. Why was he freaking out so bad? Was somebody after him? Maybe the bad guy who had managed to hurt his face, too strong for Loki to fight off. Maybe he needed Tony to get up and protect him.

Except Loki had been the one protecting him. And ah, yes, the worrying part might have been because he, Tony, was dying. It was comforting to know that he worried. Loki didn't seem to care for a lot of people. Or did he? Had he saved the others many times, too? Woah, his mind was really doing things. This wasn't how to have an efficient thought process. How did he usually think?

“Stop just _staring_ at me, you idiot!” Loki's hand was briefly on his shoulder, even more briefly on his cheek, like he didn't know where to touch without causing harm, but still wanted to shake him hard. “Tell me how to get this stupid thing off of you!”

The stupid thing. The armor. Removing the armor. Tony also wanted to shake himself, in case it would help getting his train of thoughts back on track. He was an idiot. Loki had saved him. He was dying. He needed to stop the dying part. He needed to tell Loki how to remove the armor. Getting it off of him would help. It had to.

“Shoulders.” He had not expected the way his voice came out hardly stronger than a breath, like somehow all the screaming had left him out of sounds. Speaking, or breathing, or paying attention again, was a bad idea. Pain sank its teeth in his insides. Oh _Norns_ \- “Shoulders!” He snapped again, hurriedly. “Slide -to outside- then up. _Hel_!”

Loki figured his explanations out, and the manual lock had the mercy of still being functional. Tony cried out all the same when the weight of the armor was taken off, the pain rising to an unprecedented level, like somehow being crushed to death had served as an analgesic. Loki was yelling, but not at him anymore, his back turned to Tony. Seconds passed and he tried to find the sweet spot between two sorts of agony as his efforts to breathe properly made his ribs hurt madly.

When he opened his eyes, Loki was out of sight. He felt horribly betrayed, for the instant it took to localize his friend. He was yelling -at Thor. Thor was yelling -at somebody else. His voice had that roaring quality it sometimes took after battle, almost too savage to be speech. Tony struggled to make any of it out. There was a distant rumble in his ears; maybe thunder was still rolling in the sky, far away. Oh wow. Was he going to die now, deep underground, without seeing the sky one last time? On the other hand, he felt like the noise was coming from below. It was not comforting.

“Come out, you cowards! Out!” He managed to understand Thor's words first, because they were the loudest. He sounded both angry and excited. Twisting his neck as far as he dared, Tony saw him pounding his fist on a door. “Die as your men did or bow to the victor! The son of Odin has no mercy for deserters!”

“We need to _leave_!” Loki's voice lacked the storm-like authority of his brother's, but it was growing loud and high enough to match, and Tony's ears locked onto it when he pronounced his name: “Tony needs a healer _right now_ , Thor! Leave this to the humans!”

Did Thor look toward him? He felt like he had, but it was growing too painful to look. He let his head fall back against the ground. He heard the brothers speaking, their voices angry and quick, their words not making sense. The rumbling was moving away, quieting. It was either a good or a bad thing, but he struggled to feel optimistic. Getting to a healer sounded very nice. He had never been fond of them pestering him about breathing fresh air once in a while or sleeping regularly, but now felt like a very good time to give them a chance. Maybe a healer could fix him. Maybe they could stop the pain and the bone shifting under his flesh and maybe this would all be a bad memory soon. Yeah, Loki had a good plan. Tony wanted to go to the healer. Now.

Loki was suddenly near him again, with Fandral after him. The blond swordsman was paler than Tony had ever seen him. It was kind of nice to know he was worried about him, he thought. Smiling wasn't too painful, so he did that, hoping to be encouraging. Fandral actually seemed more worried.

“Does he know what's happening?”

“His abdomen is damaged, not his head,” Loki said, voicing Tony's protest before he could try to. He sounded more tensed than insulted, as Tony would have preferred, though. “Not that I've seen, anyway. I'll leave Eir to figure it out for us. Just help me.”

“We... going to the healer?” Tony managed, through his ragged breathing.

“We need to get you outside to call Heimdall,” Loki answered him. “Eir says not to move people when they're injured, but- your spine feels alright, yes?”

He sounded almost pleading there. Tony couldn't recall Loki ever sounding like that. Here they both were, showering him with worrying and caring for him. It was very sweet. New. Kinda not unpleasant, feeling loved like that. They should talk about feelings more often, not wait for imminent death. He really didn't want to die on them now, and for that, getting back to Asgard seemed like the best option. And Eir, the royal healer -surely, if anyone could fix him, the goddess would. He nodded, though his middle was such a mess of knotted wires of pain he could only hope that not noticing any injury in his back was a good enough sign.

“Great. Good. Let's move.” Loki glanced behind his back, irritation flashing across his worried face. “Thor!”

“We're coming!” Thor sounded angry as well. “Now the villains have fled, as you had me allow, and Tony will have no revenge to speak of.”

“He'll speak of nothing if we don't bring him to Eir! I don't know how deep the injury-”

“Yes, you said so! Let's move, brother, since you insist so.”

Fandral pulled Tony up in his arms, the way he might have a laughing girl at a tavern. It was ridiculous enough, but Tony couldn't imagine having his side press into Fandral's shoulder if he were to carry him otherwise. His side protested enough against what tension he couldn't avoid to his abdomen, and he put his arms around the blond's neck to help as far as he could. He saw Sif helping Hogun to walk. Volstagg's armor was dented by countless bullets. Thor's hands showed a few minor burns, where electricity had bitten at his fingers, but was otherwise perfectly unharmed. He only had his sweat to show for proof of the battle, no wound having reached him at all. As if per magic.

Thor was never defeated, of course. He rarely ever had even a scar to show. His injuries were always shallow cuts or bloody knuckles, things a warrior would need to bear to look the part. Other than that, none of his enemies had ever managed to touch a hair off his head. He laughed about it, when older warriors told him not to be so reckless. He said the best defense was a good offense, and Mjölnir and he were the best possible offense. And people just agreed that he was indeed very good, or lucky, or both.

How were they all so stupid and blind?

“We will get you to the Lady Eir, Anthony,” Thor said as he reached Fandral's side and put a hand on Tony's shoulder. “Don't you worry. She can fix anything.”

“How are we getting out?” Volstagg was checking their back for any returning enemy. “The tunnel is no possible exit. Loki, you'll bring us to the surface?”

Like it was obvious. If he couldn't, then what was his magic even good for? Why did he bother studying all the time if he couldn't light the way and speak at the same time, if he couldn't find an exit in any hole in the ground? He was no fighter so shouldn't he at least be able to fix everything else?

Norns, he hated himself. He was supposed to be clever. He was supposed to be the smartest of them, the less hot-headed, the one who took the time to think. But he never had taken the time to think about any of _that_.

“Teleporting vertically is not something I practiced much,” Loki said. “I'll need to be careful. I'll take Hogun and Sif first to warm up before I come back for Tony.”

“Not like following the deserters would have led us to an exit eventually,” Thor mumbled, and Tony saw him twitching his fingers on Mjölnir's shaft. Hungry for battle, even now. He had never seen how selfish and dumb his friend was. Thor didn't even seem to realize that Tony was badly hurt, that he was scared. He had never seen how dumb any of them were. How dumb he was.

“Do you hear something?” Hogun asked.

“If you want to run after them, you can,” Loki hissed. “It'll be that much less _weight_ for me to drag out of the stupid trap you brought us into!”

“Maybe I will, brother! Maybe then you'll finally get it in your head that I'm a warrior and that I don't need you _mothering_ me and _telling_ me what to do with my battles when all you can suggest is to run away!”

“Thor,” Tony said, his rapid breathing increasing yet with anger.

“Wait,” Sif said, “something is-”

The ground exploded beneath their feet.

* * *

The man was eyeing him with both disdain and curiosity. Maybe it was the eyepatch, maybe it was the way he stood with authority, but even though he looked younger than he, Tony felt embarrassed.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he finally made himself answer, and then grimaced and gritted his teeth as pain pulsed in his ribs. He waited it out, and breathed his next questions carefully: “How long was I out? And who exactly are you?”

“About three hours,” the man replied. He wasn't making any move to come closer, so probably not a healer. Human, though. They were still on Earth. Or _he_ was. “You can call me _Agent_ , if you need to call me anything. I should tell you, though, I'm not here to make small talk.”

Agent. That didn't tell him if he was looking at an ally or an enemy. Tony squinted, his eyes still burning a little against the bright light above. The Agent must have seen the questions in his eyes, for he shrugged and did give some more details:

“You're in a SHIELD facility, East of Blytheville, and it's seven thirty in the evening, March 16th. My unit was tasked with retrieving you, and the rest of your team, from the A.I.M. basis in Tennessee, where you apparently made a number on the bad guys before they tried to blow you up.”

“My team,” Tony picked up, grateful for the few informations that were starting to make sense to him. “A.I.M.? We were told we were fighting -HYDRA. Who's SHIELD? Where are the others?” He added, finally frowning as he remembered what should have been his priority. The room was small and white, with no room for anything other than his own bed, the man watching him, and -“What's that?” he asked, stiffening, as he found some sort of big metallic bottle, reminiscent of the tanks attached to the armor he had fought earlier, sitting next to him. More worrisome was the fact that a translucid little tube connected him to the bottle like a wire, disappearing under a sticky patch on his shoulder.

He forced himself to sit up, grunting in pain but pushing through the tension in his belly. Agent watched him carefully but didn't try to stop him, and when he did move forward, making Tony stiffen, he simply activated an unknown mechanism, and the upper part of the bed folded up, coming to rest under the Aesir's back and providing more than welcome support.

“You,” Agent said, “really fucked up, yeah? You went into battle not knowing who you were fighting with, or against. You're lucky you had your magical powers protecting you.”

“Where are my friends and what are you doing to me?” Tony asked, his mouth very dry and his heart beating very hard. The room was too small to allow for reinforcements, but it meant they were confident he wouldn't get out. Was Agent stronger than he looked? Or-

“Hey, breathe,” Agent said, showing empty hands in a universal sign of non-agression, though he didn't bother to make himself sound any gentler. “SHIELD are the good guys. This-”, he gestured to the bottle, “is some very precious stuff we're spending on healing you. As I said, the baddies tried to blow you up. It's a miracle you're still in one piece. Well, some sort of miracle.”

“My friends?”

“Doing good. They're in the rooms next door. Most of them were way less damaged than you.” Agent watched him with his unnervingly calm one eye. “As I said. You're with the good guys. Take it slow. I called for a medic to come check you up now that you're awake, but considering you're awake and sitting, I'd say you'll be up in no time.” He cocked his head a little to the side. “You guys are actually aliens.”

It wasn't exactly a question. Tony didn't know what to say anyway, so he just nodded and, after an hesitation, let himself lie back against the bed. The new upward angle was at least more comforting than it was to just lie there and feel vulnerable. He swallowed his saliva and made himself look at his ribs. He was still wearing his leather and tunic, smelling of sweat and smoke. The clothes were oddly intact, like his armor had taken the full strength of the blast.

Of course, he had not been in armor when the explosion had happened.

Agent didn't stop him from pulling his armor up and looking at his side. The bruising on his ribs was horrifying. But his ribs were in the right place, attached to the rest of his ribcage, not digging into his organs. He ran a finger on his side and hissed in pain. Still. He was absolutely certain he had felt the cartilage breaking and the sharp edge of bone pressing into his guts. He wouldn't have healed so fast by himself.

“You said this is healing me?”

“It's certainly helping. Though, a normal human would probably have died from it.” He looked more pensive than encouraging, even as he spoke his less-than-reassuring words. “It's no wonder you got nearly all of them. If we had a couple like you, we'd be done with those bastards already.”

“The rest of my team are healed as well?” Tony asked, despite wanting to ask more about the 'bastards' -HYDRA, or A.I.M., or whoever they were. He did want to know if they had managed to escape. But this took precedence. Had Fandral not been holding him when the detonation had gone off? Would he have been okay? But before Agent could make any answer, a small old man with round glasses came through the door behind him, and Agent stepped back politely.

“Dr. Hloeja,” he said.

“Agent Fury,” said the doctor. Agent's face didn't betray much, but Tony thought he saw his fists clenching. He held back a smile, even as the older human came to him and asked about how he was feeling.

He sounded nicer and more relaxed than Agent -Fury- had, but Tony thought he sounded a little too happy to hear that his patient did not feel any side effect from the medicine they were shooting him with, like he had not expected for it to go so well. The doctor looked at his bruised side, seeming captivated, and started to ask pointed questions about the theorical limits of Aesir healing ability, the sort Tony expected Thor's father wouldn't be too pleased to see answered, and he quickly cut him off:

“Healer, I'm feeling very good, thank you for your care. But I really need to see my friends now.”

Not mentioning that Thor and Loki were princes, either. If they were really 'the good guys' and Phillip's allies, then they knew it already. If not, pointing at the most diplomatically important people in the group while they were separated was not military approved strategy.

“Ah,” the doctor said, sounding disappointed. It did seem like his instructions were to answer Tony's request when it came, though, for he didn't insist. “Well, you're healing so well, I can't argue that you should stay in bed. Our Director is speaking with your prince, and one of your friends is still sleeping, but there are no reasons to keep you waiting any longer. Agent Fury, if you would escort young Mister Anthony to the rest area? I'd appreciate for you to stay with them and make sure he feels no further discomfort.”

Fury himself seemed uncomfortable enough -or just plainly annoyed that his name had been spoken, still, to be fair- at being made to stand in a corner while Tony gratefully reunited with the Warriors Four. He found them in a sitting area not far out of his room -which, he found, truly did not look much like it was meant to hold anyone captive. They were murmuring with worry, nursing bandaged limbs or, in Volstagg's case, sipping on a beige smoothie with a sad expression. Seeing Tony brought a smile to their face -Fandral had to be told to stay seated after trying to stand on a broken leg that had yet to be absolutely as new. None of them had been injected with the content of bottles the like of which Fury carried for him, it seemed. He would have to ask further about that.

Thor and Loki were missing from the reunion. Tony's stomach twisted unpleasantly as their friends explained that they had woken here, as he had, or in the process of being pulled up from the debris of the explosion by SHIELD agents. All of them seemed offended by that, which Tony knew was a sure sign of their embarrassement. They had never been so incapacitated on the battlefield that they had needed to be recovered by late reinforcements.

“What a cowardly weapon,” Sif hissed with a shake of her head. She had gathered her hair in a ponytail, which hid most of the damage done by the flames, but not all. “Humans have come to truly shameful ways.”

“What about honor in battle?” Volstagg agreed. Of them all, he seemed the least damaged, but he was eyeing his smoothie with true disappointment. “How shameful, to leave such a device behind instead of fighting to prove your side victorious!”

Well, Asgard had been known to use traps, Tony thought. He knew of runeworks meant to kill trolls when hunters lured them out of their cave, without ever drawing the sword. He knew of Svartalfheim's war being won partially thanks to poisonous spells and mirrors of sunlight the Dark Elves had been made to face to reduce their numbers before the great battle.

But it had been Asgard. It had been the -good guys, as Fury had said. He risked a glance at the agent. He looked bored, but Tony suspected he was listening to everything they said with attention. There had been a lot of judgement in his voice before, and a whole lot of certainty when he had told Tony he had fucked up. Noticing his attention, the agent turned his one eye to him. Tony looked back at his team.

“How is Thor?” he asked, cutting off Fandral who was lamenting the loss of proper fight etiquette on Earth. “Do you know when we can go home?”

“I don't know,” said Hogun, frowning. “He has been in there for hours. Before any of you woke.”

“Was it the explosion that hurt him?” If so, the prince would be furious. It seemed unlikely that he would have been wounded by the bomb more gravely than any of them, but the doctor had said that he was still sleeping. The golden prince would be furious when he woke, he suspected. “Do we know how Loki's doing with the Director?”

The others exchanged glances. Fandral was the first one to break the silence, actually letting out a chuckle as Tony stared, a sudden sense of dread dawning unto him.

“Ah, you got it wrong, Tony, though I suppose your guess would have made more sense. No, Loki's not the one speaking with the humans. He didn't wake up yet. Thor's locked up with the Director, though.”

“He didn't?” The worry moved down in his stomach like a wash of acid. Fool, he heard himself thinking. Stupid fool, not thinking even now. Of course he had expected Loki to be up, already discussing with their allies, chatting and making everything alright while he was still asleep. His mind could conjure up an image of Thor sleeping in late, all recovered but slow to stir. It couldn't compose with that of Loki's. “Is he alright?”

“We didn't see him yet, but I'm betting on a bad mood. You know how he is with foreign generals.” Sif met his confused stare, and made a small 'oh'. “The humans are tending to him,” she started again. “He'll be up soon, no doubt.”

“How is he?” He turned to Fury, and found the agent listening without trying to hide it. “Our friend, Loki. How is he? Is he hurt?”

“Not awake yet,” Fury said, holding his eye. “He's not quite healing as fast as you did.”

“But he will be fine, yes?” Fandral asked, frowning in worry. Like he had not thought to ask before this, either. Blind idiot. All of them, Tony the most, they were just stupid, selfish idiots.

“The docs seemed to think he would make it. But, I mean, the soldier who watches the others's back is usually not the one who lives the longest, as you probably know.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Volstagg asked after a few seconds, frowning and glancing at the others. “Are you saying his life is in danger? This is absurd.”

“Loki may not be the strongest of us,” Fandral said, “but he is Aesir no less. He would not die from something so trivial.” He sounded a little less affirmative than his statement implied, still.

“I hear your last visit to Earth was in the 19th century.” Fury didn't get any confirmation from the assembled warriors, staring at him. Tony's guts felt like a knot. “The bombs we are using these days are nothing trivial, I assure you. Not even to your kind.”

“Agent,” Tony said. “How is Loki?”

The human stared at him for a few unnerving, quiet seconds. It didn't hold the same sort of disapproval he had had for him when Tony had first woken up, but it had something else -something almost pitiful, that made him feel like this human was somewhat older than any of them.

“He took the blast about as much as you didn't. Mean burns. Broken bones.” He paused. “Still. Miraculously alive. No sign of brain damage or major internal bleeding that the docs could see. Your friend's almost as lucky as you.”

“Oh, thank the Norns,” Volstagg sighed.

“You, my friend, are not good at giving good news,” Fandral reproached, and the other Warriors laughed in more relief than amusement, shaking their head.

“The worst thing in all this for Loki will be to find Thor spoke to the leader instead of him,” Hogun said in a rare sign of a joke, and the others went on to guess how the two brothers would bicker and fight when they both were able to join them. Tony didn't make his bet. Fury was no longer looking at him, but he could still feel the heavy weight of his judgement. It would really have not been so hurtful, had it not been justified.

They did not have to wait much longer, at least, for some reassuring news. Ten minutes had not fully gone by before Loki came to them. An unknown man, evidently another agent, when judging by his black clothes similar to Fury's, was walking right behind him, seeming concerned that he would fall. It was an understandable worry. The Warriors Five all fell silent, perhaps unsure for an instant to recognise the second prince in the form of the skinny figure in pale pajamas that was unsteadily looking back at them. It only then occurred to Tony that Loki rarely went anywhere without one of his leather coats or the shoulder pads holding his cape in place. Without them, he looked much thinner. And -maybe that was just an illusion due to his worry, because he could not phatom how it would be- smaller, as well.

“Where is Thor?” Were his first words. He had the nerve to sound perfectly fine, if a little sleepy still.

“With the humans' leader,” said Sif. She was staring without bothering -or thinking- to hide it. “Are you... okay?”

“You look like you need a meal and a nap,” Volstagg proclaimed. It was the greatest expression of his worry and care, but Loki didn't seem to realize that. He stood a little unsteady, and the human agent made a move toward him, but he was already taking place in a free seat.

The rest of them still had their own clothes -damaged, dirty, free of the pieces of armor that had been taken off them to better acess their injuries, but their own still. Loki had taken as much of the blast as they hadn't, Fury had said. The formulation was very specific. Tony had a feeling the human had meant for how heavy with implication it was. Fury himself was watching the younger prince with a deceivingly disinterested expression. Loki still sported the cut to his face. It had been cleaned up, but was still pink and raw.

“I would see my brother,” said Loki. He didn't look at anyone in particular, but the agent that had been walking with him seemed to take it for himself. He grimaced, but exited the sitting area. They really had been ordered to treat them well, had they not? “I have... felt better,” the prince continued after a pause. “I dare hope this was our last adventure for a while.”

“Ah, fighting metal soldiers deep underground was not my idea of fun, either,” Fandral said quickly, maybe forcing his cheerfulness a little. “The healer here said my leg was broken in three places, Hogun fell on his wrist and twisted his shoulder, and we lost poor Sif's hair, you remember. We'll be right to blame Thor for this one! Tony was asleep for almost as long as you were.”

“Tony,” said Loki. His eyes fell on him. It wasn't just his voice. He definitely looked like he was half-asleep yet, but his eyes moved up and down Tony's body. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” Tony said. He didn't think it appropriate to say something like 'never better' or 'ah, just a perfored liver or something', even if, like Fandral, he felt tempted to brush over the unpleasant part and get on with some more pleasant things. Instead, he cleared his throat and made himself stand. The process was unpleasant. Norns, ribs weren't meant to be broken. They were very mad and wanted him to know. But he took a step forward and another, and then he let himself fall next to Loki in the couch, ignoring the impression that everyone was staring as he put his arm around the prince's shoulder. A fraternal gesture, not unlike Hogun had shared with Fandral not five minutes ago. It didn't feel so light, but he didn't care. His heart wasn't light right now, not even as he said, very simply, “Thanks, Loki.”

Loki looked at him almost wearily, like he had spoken in a foreign language. Tony could see Sif frowning in confusion from the corner of the eye, and he had the impression Fury was staring at his back. He felt ridiculous. Which seemed fair, for all the guilt he carried from having never uttered these words earlier. But the few seconds of silence that followed still made him feel very stupid.

“Indeed,” said a voice finally. “You fought well, brother. All of you did.”

Thor was standing a few paces away from them. Like the rest of the band, he was standing in his sleeveless tunic with no sign of his armor or any of his royal regalia. The dark protective material was making him look more dangerous than godly, but though his face was sour, he gave no sign of preparing for another battle.

Beside the prince stood a woman, small by his side, but tall in her own respect. Her lips were painted a blood-like shade of rouge, and pinched slightly like she was at any time ready to win an argument. Like Thor, she appeared calm and relaxed; but there was something about her stance that gave the impression that she, too, was an experienced warrior. Her green uniform, the same shade as Phillips', bore unknown insignas whose meaning was easy enough to guess as another proof of the battles she had seen and survived.

“I am so glad to see you all awake,” she said. She smiled at them, red lips pulling up charmingly. Her voice was polite and light, with an accent the other Agents didn't have. But her eyes still held some sharpness, and like Fury, Tony had a feeling she was taking notes and observing even as she made conversation. “We all worried for you, but it seems your people are as tough as I was told. I am Peggy Carter, Director of SHIELD,” she introduced herself warmly, looking at each of them in turn. It was hard not to answer her smile. “In its name, I would like to thank you all for what you did today. Though it was no easy battle for you, you pierced through defenses we were not hoping to break before several weeks and might have made the difference in stopping A.I.M.'s schemes to destroy the peace we are trying to build. We are very glad to call your people an ally.”

“It was our honor, Lady Carter,” said Fandral, of course, pushing himself up to offer a bow that would no doubt have been more graceful had he been standing on his two feet. “I must say, I do blame the Colonel for keeping from us that his leader was also such a beautiful woman.”

“Oh? Would it have made you more diligent to fight for me than for the rightful cause?” Carter asked, not losing anything of her warm smile.

Volstagg coughed very suddenly at that and Sif didn't hide her grin as Fandral sat back. Tony glanced at Loki and found the younger prince sitting straighter than before, clearly trying to pay attention despite being barely out of bed.

“Director Carter and I have been speaking,” Thor said, ignoring Fandral's intervention. He seemed oddly uncomfortable, still, crossing his arms in an uncharacteristically not royal gesture. “We have discussed the fight against the forces of HYDRA. Earth has been the scene of many a sinister fight in the last few years. The humans we fought today were of a kind who grows dangerous in the power it seeks to grasp.”

“They are an isolated group,” Carter said. “A few hundred men, misled by a few dangerous fanatics. Nevertheless, it has been getting increasingly difficult to destroy its branches as fast as they are growing.” She was still speaking calmly, but her gaze had hardened for all her words seemed tranquil. “It is not SHIELD's way to seek allies outside of our own forces, but there is no denying any help is welcome in ending this at once.”

“I will seek my father's permission to stay on Earth until we see this war done,” Thor said. “Director Carter says that this -HYDRA- that they wield a force unknown to this planet. I would see it retrieved and taken from Earth before it can do more wrong.”

“You will have my sword, as always,” said Fandral.

“And mine,” Sif assured.

“Thor,” Tony interrupted before Volstagg or Hogun could swear as well. “My armor. It was wrecked. And -and honestly, we were not prepared for this. We are decades late on human technology. I'm not ashamed to admit I was overwhelmed, down there,” he added quickly as the others were silent. “We can't rush into another battle like this. I'm still recovering, Fandral's leg is still broken. And Loki was hurt, too.”

“Yes,” said Thor, a little drily. He wasn't looking at Loki. “Yes, I know. I'm not saying we can't take some rest, and you can get one of your spare armors. And while Loki recovers, he will have the time to learn about the new human things, yes? We led a fierce battle today,” he added quickly, not waiting for an answer. “It was more dangerous a fight than we expected, but what would be the warrior pride of Asgard if it cowered from a challenge? Eh? Come now! Some shameful human warmongers, against the greatest fighters of the realm eternal? Against Fandral the Dashing and Hogun the Grim and Volstagg the Voluminous, and the Iron Man and the Fierce Lady Sif?” He was laughing now, and Tony could feel how his words were taking strength, and how the others were reacting to them, and standing straighter. “Against the great princes of Asgard? Please! With my lightning and Loki's cunning, with all your swords and Tony's machines, you know well nothing can resist us. And with Director Carter's help, then how could we refuse to save the Earth from this war that is tearing it?”

“You just want to get a longer break from dealing with the council, admit it.”

Tony glanced at Loki, fearing for an instant that the two brothers would start bickering already, with Loki hardly recovered enough to be standing at all. But the younger prince, tired and all, was actually smiling at his brother, and when Tony risked a look up, he saw Thor was smiling right back, spreading his arms in an eloquent 'see?' gesture at the other Warriors. Carter was quiet, observing their reactions as they glanced at each other.

“Well, how could we refuse to save the Prince from boring council duty?” Fandral grinned at last. “I say we end this fight properly. We do have to make them pay for trying to blow us up.”

“And for burning my hair,” Sif said, and Thor laughed.

“For Sif's hair!”

It wasn't right, Tony thought. It wasn't right, to turn from how they had screamed and feared during the battle. To speak no longer of how he had almost died. Of how the two brothers had been torn apart by fury and pride. To speak not of all the lies that made them, their whole little band, the victorious team they had shown the humans. It wasn't right to speak of glory and victory and look away from how close they had been to being dead, to being torn apart. Like moving forward would fix it all, not bring them that much closer to the edge. There was something sharp within their quests and their games, something that they would cut themselves with if they were not careful, something that he had seen in himself and was now noticing in them all for the first time.

He looked at Loki. He looked a little sweaty, like he was feverish in his white hospital clothes. No visible injuries on him, but his armor had been destroyed where theirs had held still. Taking the blast as much as they hadn't. They hadn't given _him_ the expensive medicine, like there had been no visible healing to hurry with it.

He caught Fury looking at him. The Agent was standing back, neutral, hands behind his back. But the judgement in his voice seemed to resonate in Tony's skull as their eyes met. _You went into battle not knowing who you were fighting with, or against. You're lucky you had your magical powers protecting you. You really fucked up._ How close to tearing each other apart Thor and Loki had been, in that hole where Tony had thought he would die. How Thor had almost done it, almost said Loki was no warrior at all. How Loki had almost told Thor to go get himself killed if it was all that he cared for.

Loki's eyes were still a little glassy, like he wasn't totally there with them. But he was attentive still, his sharp green gaze going to Thor, to Sif, to Carter. He looked at Tony, and Tony pretended not to watch. He didn't remove his hand from where it sat on his shoulder, unable to make himself say anything, even as the prince's gaze lingered on him a few long seconds.

“I'm all for avenging this disaster,” the prince said at last, when the others were done swearing to make HYDRA pay for Sif's lost locks, “but personally, I am not going back to the fight until I get a hot bath and a night of sleep. You take care of arguing with Father, and then we'll see.”

“Leaving me to persuade Father alone is cowardice,” Thor blamed, laughing. His eyes didn't go Loki's way, but Loki wasn't looking at him either. “Fine, then. Get your rest. I will send word to Asgard.”

“And I need meat,” Volstagg proclaimed. “And ale. Surely it can be procurred, kind lady, yes? You cannot send a man to battle on an empty stomach. Not this man,” he amended, looking at his empty smoothie cup sadly.

“We shall see to it that you are given what you need, Sir Volstagg,” Carter replied pleasantly. “I'm afraid we may lack some of the things you would enjoy. Supplies are hard to come by these days. But if it is in our power to obtain it, we will. Welcome to SHIELD, prince Thor,” said the Director, smiling, and she turned to add, “Prince Loki; and all you brave fighters.”

There was nothing to say now, nothing to protest when nobody else seemed to notice anything. Tony let himself smile as the others did, and tried to tell himself that not all alloys allowed rust to spread. That maybe, this sort of rot he had uncovered in their perfect friendship would be the kind that slowly faded and turned into a forgettable mark, not the kind that grew sicker and uglier and corrupted everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt that inspired this chapter was: "Character: Nick Fury"
> 
> Don't hesitate to share your thoughts!


	2. Freezing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II
> 
> In which rust and frost spread and turn softness to sharp edges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to @hypnotically for putting up with my constant whumping of the English language.

Tony had always been gifted at counting. Complex theories putting components in relation to one another depending on temperature and time were as natural to his brain as regular, simple equations to calculate his spending at the market. In fact, it had taken him many centuries to realize that not everyone could, as he did, figure out in an instant how long it would take their party to climb the ten thousand steps of Nornheim's Hall when considering the bad weather and Volstagg's mandatory elevensies break. It was simply how his mind worked : he gathered facts, compared them, added them up, and obtained results that seemed as evident as it was to take a look up and tell the color of the sky.

It was usually a talent he appreciated in himself. It was practical. People stared at him in awe. Blacksmiths with far more experience than he turned to him for estimates, knowing they wouldn't have to double check. He had been called a genius and had realized he did fit the definition. It was quite a nice feeling, most days. And even when he realized he would not appreciate what he found, he was glad he could do the math by himself, because he was too aware nobody could, or would give him an answer.

He and Loki had discussed rune magic in the past. Tony had no patience for the spellwork proper, but with Loki, he had learned how the binding of the runes worked, and had from there been able to craft his own sigils and spells. Once the designs were engraved deep in the metal, it was only a few coins to get a volür to enchant it for him. It was the only knowledge of seiðr he had for himself, and the only idea Loki had ever given him of what kind of effort magic required.

Calculation one : if a volür asked three silver coins and took half a day to bind a strong yet simple enchantment; if a spell without runework or ritual preparation required thrice the effort to put in place; if shielding a person was far harder than spelling an object; then how much energy did it take to stop an arrow in mid-flight? How much more for a sword, or a deadly explosive charge?

There was the matter of battle magic, as well. Loki had never explained it all properly, but he was enthusiastic enough about it to babble every now and then, marvelling at the power of elven sorcerers of old, or laughing when Tony suggested a spell that sounded absurd to him. The rules of magic were odd things, bound in tradition and imagination as well as elements and strength: that was the main reason why Tony couldn't figure it out, the lack of certainty and facts. Each magic user, Loki had said once, was bound to have spells that came to him naturally and others that resisted his learning. It was how he had justified his fondness of illusions and shape-shifting. Tony couldn't remember the whole conversation, nor had Loki gone into specifics. But he remembered at least that he had said acting on the physical world was much more difficult for him than commanding images or fire or wind.

Calculation two: if he supposed that doing a spell outside one's area of expertise took one and a half time as much work; if he figured that moving charges or pushing things with seiðr took a toll on the user half as great as the physical effort; if Loki was unused to that sort of work; if the armors the humans had worn on that day were made of regular iron and if they were tall as one and a half stupid Tony and as large as his blindspots; then how difficult had it been for him to twist the upper body of the man in the mechanical armor one hundred and eighty degrees like the cork of a bottle?

It was a sort of thinking that busied his mind for much longer than it would usually have. To be blamed was of course his lack of factual information, as he had to rake through his mind in search of memories, proofs, comparisons. It seemed all the more absurd now that he had never taken the time to figure this out properly, and any justification his mind came up with, suggesting that it had seemed too complicated, too abstract, too private, was unsatisfactory. He may not have known about archery, for instance, but he knew what sort of position archers needed, and the time it took them to set up, and what made their work easier or harder for them. It was basic common sense to figure out how your allies worked if you were going to help them.

Which brought him back to how he had never considered helping Loki, because he had never considered that Loki was actually doing anything.

Calculation number three was the worst of the lot. It went like this: if five absolute dumbasses went in search of fighting and warring at least once a year for six hundred years, and one sorcerer had been watching their back the whole time, and they had all survived to roll their eyes at his claiming to be useful; if Loki had stopped weapons and killed fighters and generally kept them alive despite themselves for all this time; then how many life debts had they all accumulated along the ages?

He could figure out numbers to all three equations. They were estimates, of course, more of a range than a specific answer. But all those served only as consideration in the actual questions that had haunted his mind ever since the HYDRA base.

One, why the Hel had Loki been protecting them, all this time, even as they had been anything but deserving of his efforts? What had stopped him from letting them suffer the full damage of their stupidity as a lesson?

Two, and this was the most important one: how did he apologise, now that he knew? How did he fix things when he had let the wrongness reach so deep between them? How did he make it right again, now that he saw that it never had been right in the first place?

* * *

World War Two, as they had learned the great fight was called, ended in May 1945, with victory to the good guys. They had been fighting for almost two months, but for humanity, it had been years since the forgotten days of peace: eternity, for a people with a life as short as a candleflame.

Maybe it was why the celebration was so grand. There were no banquets for the returning heroes nor titles to be bestowed upon them as they came back home, but then, there were no public executions of the enemy, either. What Tony saw instead was relief and joy unlike he had ever seen on tired, thin faces. Survivors of the war wept and laughed and danced, and they did it again until they fell asleep in the street, men in uniform resting their head on the shoulder of their companions as the steps of passers-by lifted confetti from the ground and onto their slumping forms. It was as if the soldiers were allowing themselves to rest at last after years of wakefulness, and the civilians kept quietly covering them with their gratitude even as they slept.

Later that same night - or perhaps it was beginning to be the day - they found themselves in the more discreet celebrations of SHIELD.

It was probably obligatory for a secret organization to be quiet even in their moments of triumph. Director Carter had gathered her men earlier for a very short speech, saying that the fall of the Axis Powers did not mean their work to protect humanity was done with. She had told the agents, pilots and spies that so long as Earth faced any threat, then the job of SHIELD would not be done. Keeping silent for a moment, she had looked at her soldiers: old men with more lines in their face then there had been when the war had started, younger ones who had tasted blood for the first time during it and would be changed by it forever.

She, herself, looked exhausted. Her lips were their usual perfect shade of red, not one hair on her head sticking out of her brown curls, but her eyes were made deeper by the darkness beneath them. Eventually, she had put on a smile.

“But for tonight,” her voice had rung clear and light, “each and everyone of us deserves to rest and celebrate. Keep to your stations until your team leader tells you otherwise. Everybody gets the last two hours of their day off, and you'll find that our dear Colonel Phillips has managed to get his hand on a few comforting things some of you -some of you have very dearly missed”, she finished, covering the cheers of the men with a laugh. “You only have until tomorrow at noon, agents. Don't embarrass yourself too much before we resume the usual rules about intoxication and company!”

Wives and girlfriends were reunited with their husbands and partners as beer, colorful fruits, chocolate and something called ice cream were handed out to the soldiers, all in amounts that would probably not have relieved anyone of their thirst or hunger, had they not been otherwise busy with celebration. Their discipline was remarkable, Volstagg noted, gesturing to the men who waited at their post for the authorization to leave it. As far as Tony was concerned, so were their dance moves, considering he had never heard music in the base until now, with an impromptu dance floor having emerged in the middle of the dining hall.

Men twirled their girlfriends around, negotiated ferociously to trade their cigarettes for another man's chocolate ration at tables, or disappeared in the shadows of hallways with their laughing partner. Agents they may have been, but they were humans too, and it was as humans that they celebrated the end of the fighting, if only, as Carter had said, for one night. One man actually cried for joy when it was his turn to find he had a visitor, and then went around the entire hall boasting with pride to show off the tiny round face of a confused looking baby girl, whom his equally laughing-and-crying wife had just introduced him to.

The Aesirs were sitting somewhat apart, and they watched with quiet marvel as agents of all ages and stations cooed around the baby, forgetting for a moment or an evening all that was wrong with their world. They were quiet, for once, all seven of them watching the party going on. Volstagg was the first to break the silence, startling them all when he said he wanted to be a dad someday. They laughed at imagining themselves as the sort of adults who grew into being parents, and Sif sighed and said she would miss the humans, and they all teased Fandral when he wouldn't say what, or whom, he would miss. Thor wondered about bringing chocolate back to Asgard and whether farmers in the Golden Realm would be able to grow cocoa to make more, and they drank and spoke the night away. All the while, Tony wondered if any of the others, like him, were thinking that the humans had a more valuable concept to teach them, in the way they laughed and danced and kissed, grateful to be alive and wishing for peace to last.

HYDRA was defeated, the war was over. They had completed their mission, and were expected to go back home immediately, as the King had demanded when he had granted Thor his wish to stay until the end of the conflict. Still, they had lingered for one last day, waking late in the afternoon the day after victory, and finding that Thor and Loki were meeting with Director Carter in her office. They sat chatting with various agents who, like Fury, had chosen for uncertain reasons not to party into the night. Some of them were evidently getting some sort of merciless delight in speaking just a little too loud for the comfort of their not so reasonable colleagues, but the young eyepatch-bearing agent just looked as though he had not gotten the memo about having won the war.

“Are you kidding?” He shrugged when Fandral asked him about it. “It's now the real work begins. The army can celebrate if they want to. We agents are just getting started dealing with the bastards that will try to crawl back in hiding and escape consequences for what they did.”

“You are not a very joyful human,” Hogun, of them all, noted, although it was hard to say if this was cause for concern or approval for him.

“I like to keep the celebrating short and sweet.”

“We're going back to Asgard later today,” Tony felt the need to tell the agent.

He found him unnerving in many ways, and imagined decades of mortal life would not be enough to make him appreciate the agent's judgemental, intense demeanor. Still, while most agents had looked at them with the usual fear and awe humans felt when fighting by their side, Fury had always kept his cool, or at least pretended to. He had simply taken their existence in stride, taking a good look at them before going on with his job, and Tony felt himself respecting him for that. He wanted to add something, say that Fury was an honorable warrior, maybe, or that he saw now what the agent had quietly blamed him for on their first meeting, and that he was determined to fix things, even if he had not quite figured how yet. He wanted both to thank the man and to prove him wrong, but none of those things were alright to say out loud, and the other Warriors had looked at him oddly in the last few weeks, asking if all was well. And so, smiling, all he said was,

“We might not come back to Midgard for years. Aren't you going to say something moving, Agent?”

“To you, Stark?” If Fury felt the meaning behind his teasing, he didn't show it, just looking at him almost suspiciously. “I'll say I'm looking forward to no more alarm in the middle of the night because someone's trying to figure out computers.”

“You'll miss me,” Tony retorted, even as the others laughed, and Fury almost seemed to smile. “It's good for your human heart, the occasional surprise.”

“Friends,” Thor's voice interrupted before Fury could retort anything.

Both princes were coming their way, seeming regal and serious in varying levels. Loki stopped to look at Fury retreating, maybe telling him something quietly, but Thor blocked Tony's eyes from them as he stood in front of them.

“We're going back home,” Thor announced. He didn't look especially enthusiastic about it, but there was no open sign of anger in him either. Director Carter seemed to be good at speaking with the Thunderer: he always seemed both a little uncomfortable and determined when he walked out of her office. Tony suspected the charming yet confident attitude of the Director reminded him of the Queen somewhat. “SHIELD will take care of whatever isolated HYDRA bases might still be standing, but our forces are no longer required here. Still,” he lit up, “Director Carter asked me if we would be willing to come to Earth's aid again in the future. I promised she would always be able to count on us, if we could help it.”

“You're hoping that will be enough to convince the Allfather to let us come back?” Sif asked, no more blind than Tony, it seemed, at Thor's growing reluctance to go back home.

“Midgard is no longer a small playground,” Thor replied seriously. “We did find the Tesseract amongst HYDRA's weapons. Father always said that it was Asgard's duty to offer a guiding hand to the realms. I simply offered myself as a protector of the Earth. Surely, as future king, it will seem appropriate to my father that I make sure to help the mortals as they grow.”

“Weren't we supposed to bring the Tesseract back home, speaking of it?” Volstagg asked, glancing at Loki to find him empty-handed -and shrugging- as he finally came standing next to his brother.

“Bringing such an unstable energy source as an Infinity Stone through the Bifröst would be ill-advised,” the prince said. “I'll be back for it, once the Allfather tells me how to bring it home safely to put it in the Vault.”

He had made a good recovery since their first battle on Earth, it seemed, but it was also quite hard to judge when there had hardly been any proof of his being hurt at all. It had taken an oddly long time for the cut on his face to disappear while the rest of their burns and broken bones had healed in days, but when Tony had questioned him, all Loki had answered was that he felt tired. It led to Tony deciding the damage done was probably magical in nature, though it was no help at all for figuring out how to help Loki feel better. Within a few weeks, the first of which he had spent sleeping the hours away, and looking sort of unfocused and distracted whenever he did get out of bed, Loki was mostly back to his usual self, discussing with mortals and looking for information about their enemy, until now. He had not said much during the celebrations, and the only opinion Tony had gotten out of him through casual conversation was that he had not liked the cigarette he had been offered.

“That aside,” Thor said, “SHIELD wanted to take a good look at the Tesseract. Their man of science, Howard, did promise he would keep it safe until we retrieve it,” he added as Loki grimaced, shaking his head.

“It's time we go anyway,” the second prince said. “Heimdall will have warned Father. I suppose Midgard can stand for a few days with Director Carter in charge.”

It was clear they had had the debate already -which Tony could somehow understand: they had seen what HYDRA had started with the Tesseract as a power source, and it was hard to leave it behind unconcerned. Howard, the head scientist in the base, did seem reasonable enough, but Tony had been brought to understand that the loss of close friends had driven him to be the distraction-prone, somewhat disconnected man he had met. He might not be the best suited to guard such a potent weapon, though Carter, indeed, would probably keep an eye on it too.

Tony had not spent much time with the Director, or at least not in small enough committee to truly discover what kind of person she was. Still, she had made an impression on him as a clever woman who had seen enough terrible things to stop these from happening again if she could help it. She would not encourage any experimenting with something as dangerous as the Tesseract, he was sure of it; whoever Howard had lost, she had lost someone at least as close, he had read between the lines, and that someone had been keen to protect people from destructive forces, wherever they came from. Her motive, at least, he knew to be pure.

But it still meant hoping it would be  _enough_ . And it was a moderate comfort, after seeing the deadly force mortals had managed to harness even without magic. 'Good guys' or not, Howard, and SHIELD, had both been involved in the creation of that planet-shaking bomb they had used to end the war. 

When the Bifröst took them home, Tony, for the first time, found himself wondering if Earth would still be there when they came back.

* * *

The years that followed were of that strange sort of time that seemed to simultaneously go on forever and pass by in the blink of an eye. There was very little time for Tony to think about Midgard, his unresolved debt to Loki, or Freyjr's offer.

They had returned to Asgard for only a decade or so, settling back into their routine after every man in town had heard the stories of their adventure on Earth, when the rumors of turmoil had reached them.

What had started as a simple dispute for territory between two local lords in the northern mountains had grown and festered into a sinister settling of accounts between old rivals and had dragged thousands of people in it. The feud was made all the worse by the fact that one of the warring lords was a former royal councilman by the name of Bestla, exiled in a discreet way, so the rumor said, for unknown atrocities committed during the Jötun war. It should have been an easy thing to get rid of such a trouble-maker, if not for the fact that some hot-blooded fools were proudly supporting him, claiming indeed that the peace built by Odin was nothing less than cowardice and the disgracing of Aesir pride by letting the Frost Giants live. The damn thing had turned to a civil war of sort, with battle-hungry warriors calling for a new age of conquests and warring, while the other lord, Ganglati, was stubbornly trying to hold to his parcel of land, calling them foolish, and generally fueling their determination by being one of those fat, rich lords whose hands had not held a sword in ages.

It gave Thor headaches, the prince complained continuously. He was frowning, grimacing, looking in some way like he had been given a mathematical problem he didn't want to solve. He couldn't understand why his own people would not be united, and he was annoyed that Odin didn't let him solve the problem by calling the leaders to a duel. On the other hand, he couldn't understand either why his father did not agree to simply start a new campaign to calm the warriors' spirits and strengthen Asgard at the same time. 

“He claims this all needs to be solved through peace talks. Any solution would be faster and easier than trying to get everyone to agree! Either fight the rebels, or give them what they wish for!”

“Which one would you do?” Loki had asked conversationally, though Tony, looking at him, saw how he eyed Thor icily.

“I don't know,” Thor admitted. “I do say Asgard could take over the Storm Giants. It would make them all happy, give us more land, get rid of trouble. Or maybe those barbarian tribes near the ocean. We pay them for passage of our ships, like they own the shore, but they're primitive men who fight with seashell blades. It would clean things up.”

“Well, they cook crustaceans wonderfully,” Volstagg supplied. “And I believe they're friends of the elves. Is that right?”

“They are,” Loki said, but his eyes were still on Thor.

“So the Storm Giants then! I don't know, I'm just trying to think. It would be a complete win.”

“You would have an army destroy the giants? All of them? Wives and children?”

“They have women?” Thor asked, with a smile, but it faded a little when Loki didn't return it. “Oh, come on. They're giants. Father says it's probably a matter of time before they try to take over or something. They're stupid and destructive, you remember what they did to Midgard back in the day! What, you think we shouldn't kill them? Are you fond of giants now? I just mean -fine, if we can't go to war, and they refuse to understand, then those men simply need to be made quiet about their impossible demands. They want to fight, they can join the army.”

“You didn't listen _at all_ , did you?” Loki had seemed about to snap, but had caught himself just in time. “They demand a new war because they think Asgard is growing weak. The peasants have reason to ask for battle. The North has had drought and sickness and they're raised on folk tales and old beliefs- that the earth needs to be watered with blood to be generous again. Some of them are not eager to fight, they think they _have_ to-”

“But that is stupid! If they are so foolish, then we should just send them-”

“Just! Simply! Why don't we _just_ -it's not that simple, Thor!

Loki shut himself up, but showed his teeth for another second, looking at Thor like he was struggling not to punch him. The other Warriors all fell silent, embarrassed by the two princes disagreeing so passionately. Thor seemed speechless, not insulted, but rather startled, like he couldn't understand why Loki had snapped. Finally releasing a tense breath, the younger prince seemed to make a conscious effort to avoid looking at anyone else, his eyes moving from their lunch in the gardens to the distant line of the mountains. 

“You're not supposed to talk about this with civilians in the first place,” he said finally, though it really didn't have the bite of his previous words. “The council swears an oath at the start of every session-”

“What _is_ wrong with you?” Thor cut him off, snapping out of his shock. “What in Helheim was that? And I can talk to my friends if I want to!”

“Of course you _can_.” Loki's voice was almost a hiss now, and his movements had the angry grace of a snake striking when he abruptly stood up.

“Loki, what are you mad about? Hey, where are you going? Loki? Loki, sit down, I'm talking to y- Loki!”

The disbelief turned to insult, then anger. Hogun, who had been leaning against an archway, took a small step back to allow the younger prince out of the garden, as Loki stepped out without looking back.

“I'll... I'll go after him,” Tony said, in the few tense seconds that followed.

“What in Helheim is it with him?” He heard Thor asking behind his back. “That was insane, right? What was all that arguing even about?”

“Well, I mean,” Sif started uncomfortably, “it does seem like it's really complicated, that thing. I suppose he thought of all you were saying before.”

“And none of it worked for him, so he was impatient,” Fandral chided in. “You know how he hates it when he can't solve a puzzle. He was just on edge, and you're tired too. I mean, you guys have been with the King and Council all morning, and just hearing you guys talk about it gives me a headache.”

“You know how Loki is,” Volstagg said.

“He called us civilians, too.”

“Are _you_ not supposed to talk of all this with us?” 

Tony slipped into the castle leaving the silence in his ears ringing full of those words he wanted to refute but didn't know what with. A passing einherjar was able to point him the way 'his Highness' had gone, and he felt the somewhat curious look of the soldier on his back as he followed after. It would have been futile had Loki chosen to return to his rooms through magic or paths Tony didn't know, but he found the prince walking in a deceivingly casual way toward the main halls.

“Hey,” he called after him, trying to affect the same sort of relaxed, nothing-weird-just-happened attitude.

“I'm going to the kitchen,” Loki said, like it explained everything. Well, he had left before eating anything of their outdoor lunch, true enough.

“Mind if I join you?”

“You're free to go where you please.”

“Oh, don't be like that with me,” Tony said, finally slowing down as he came to walk by Loki's side. He tried to catch the prince's eyes. “Thor's being really dense, uh?”

“Some councilmen might suggest having you flogged for talking of him that way,” Loki said. He did sound a little bit more cheerful, though, and Tony chose to think it was not because he pictured him being flogged.

“I guess they could, yeah. But you know what I mean. Thor's my friend, I love him. But when it comes to problems that can't be solved by hitting them very hard...”

Loki's shoulders seemed to fall a little. Tony couldn't say for sure if it was relief, or on the contrary if he was making Loki even more tired and annoyed than he had been. He eyed him carefully; alone with him, he realized, for the first time since Midgard. He tried to find anything that he had failed to see before, like some hint that had always been there that Loki cared enough to have saved his life - but there was nothing, other than the familiar severity of Loki's traits, the usual tension in his thin shoulders, the twitching of his pale fingers over the edge of his long sleeves.

“Father is getting impatient,” Loki said finally. He frowned a little bit, like he was already regretting it, but he glanced at Tony and then continued anyway. “Some councilmen are offended by Thor's attitude. It's the first time he truly sits in crisis meetings, of course, so most are willing to give him time to learn. But it seems that... I think Father expected him to do better. He sent us out today quite angrily.”

“The two of you?”

“Thor.” A pause. “I followed because I... I thought he would be upset. I thought that he would... But it's like he didn't even notice that Father was angry,” he finished in a disbelieving grimace.

“Do you think the King will... talk to him?” It was always a little uncomfortable to remember that Thor and Loki had both been told to eat their greens by the Allfather. Or -well, he was pretty sure the Queen had done that, or servants, but the point was the same. Reconciling the royal family with his friends' family felt odd. “Are the battles getting that serious?”

“Not yet. But they could, if nothing is done. I don't know if Father will talk to Thor. I think he wants him to figure things out for himself -but Thor just wants the whole thing to be over. He wants someone to tell him who to punch to fix things. Like on Earth. He literally says it, doesn't he? 'Point me the battlefield!', like that's all that...” He trailed off and when Tony looked up, he found him wincing. “But maybe I am just... This feels important to _me_. But it's not like I'm the one who will inherit the throne, is it? And I'm speaking of it outside the council room, now, too”, he added with a little exasperated hand gesture. When he started again, his voice was lighter, pretending peace of mind, as though he had managed to chase away his concern like an annoying fly. “You did not have to run after me, you know. I was just going to get some food and go back to my studies. I simply needed to be -away.”

“I know,” Tony said, though he didn't. He wanted to ask if Loki thought he would be better if the throne had been his to claim, or if he wished he were the heir, after all. But neither of those questions were proper to ask, and definitely not here, where people might hear them. So he just said, affecting the same tone, “It's been a while since we could hang out, though, just the two of us. And if this whole thing gets worse, we might be busy for a while, so... any chance that I might tag along for the snacking and reading thing?”

“You? Reading?” Loki's voice was back to sounding like himself, scoffing in a teasing way.

“Well, you read, I snack. And maybe sketch. I'm done with all my orders for the month, I need a new project. If there's anything you need repaired or made...”

“What, you're just offering? No limitations? You're putting yourself in danger, my dear Anthony.”

“My ban on needle-sized blades still stands,” Tony replied, making a mental note not to sound too suspiciously eager to please, either. Loki knew him enough to realize something was odd. “Why? Did you have any other nightmarish ideas for  ridiculously specific pieces?”

“You're sounding as though you're not the single most talented smith in all Asgard. Are you not confident you could make anything I could come up with?”

“Yeah, my talent is not the problem here. Your thinking outside of the laws of physics, let alone chemistry, is. That alloy you suggested the last time almost killed a dozen apprentices.”

“Serves them well for not listening to your instructions better,” Loki said, and his cheerfulness was back now, full and genuine and distracted from his darker worries as he opened a door and gestured for Tony to go on, forgetful of his own usual whining about Tony doing the job for his prince. “But, if you truly have nothing else to do, then I might in fact have a project for you. Suitably challenging for your skills, as well.”

“Well, do pray tell,” Tony said, finding Loki's enthusiasm was spreading to him easily. “It _has_ been a while since I worked the metal until I hated myself.”

They slipped into the kitchen, and neither servants nor cooks paid any attention to them as Loki gathered sweets and breads and fruits in a bag. Tony followed with his hands in his pockets, admiring the quiet perfection of the spell, and as he listened to Loki explaining the project he had in mind, he found himself longing for this sort of easy, out-of-time joy to last for them. So what, he thought, if Thor was foolish and making Odin angry? So what if his path was one of blindness and bloody hands until now? If war had made them all into murderers and war was coming again? 

Perhaps they could go on, rot and shame and blood heavy on their back, sure, but holding to what was right. Was it not the best they could do? The best  _he_ could do? 

“Anthony. Are you even listening?”

“Yeah, no, sorry, I was just- thinking. This whole thing in the North. I'm just hoping it will all be fine.”

“I'm asking you if you want herb bread and you're thinking of war?” Loki shook his head, not actually waiting for his answer. “I never knew the Iron Man to fear battle.”

“Midgard made me fear it,” Tony admitted.

It was almost like saying a profanity, and he expected that the servants sitting nearby peeling apples would have stopped chatting and stared, if they had been able to hear him utter the word. _Fear_. He watched Loki carefully, wondering what he would say. Loki's face didn't betray any reaction, but his hand stilled for half a second above a loaf of bread before he resumed his gesture to wrap it in a cloth and into the little bag he had been filling with food.

“Midgard.” He looked up. “So did you want the bread?”

“No. Thanks.”

He buckled the bag and they were out, climbing the stairs back up toward the main area of the castle. As they moved toward the royal wing, at last, Loki spoke. He sounded intrigued.

“You almost died on Midgard, fighting that mechanical monster. And now you fear facing death again?”

Tony felt shame of a different kind than before burning him. Not visceral and choking like realizing how careless he had been, but instead feeling his skin burn at the mere implication. Hundreds of years of speaking of bravery in the face of danger as the greatest quality to be found in a man were hard to shake off, despite the way things had shifted. Loki's eyes were curious - no, not even curious, excited. Like the girls Fandral liked to meet with, when they were learning of a new piece of gossip and were asking for all the juicy details. It was unpleasant to be stared at that way, but he supposed that, out of everyone, Loki, who had to justify his own bravery constantly, would feel some rush of superiority at hearing him admit to fear.

“It's not that,” he said, still a bit more defensive than he had wanted to sound. “Well, I... I suppose to some extent it is true. See, you saved my life, that day. At least twice,” he went on, even when Loki seemed to freeze. “And that was just that day. You protected me and I won. If you had been away, or if you had been looking somewhere else, then- I wasn't coming back. And that made me realize that winning the battle, it's a matter of luck and skill and allies. We may be the good guys, but our victories were never a reward for that, right? I could have died that easily if you hadn't been there, because, well, people die very easily, all the time. They die in the blink of an eye, sometimes many of them at the same time. I make weapons, so I know exactly what you need to do to a person to ensure they never get up again. I know how to kill people. But I didn't know they were dead until I almost died too. And you're looking at me like I'm insane.”

They had reached the door of Loki's rooms. Patrolling soldiers had glanced their way, and Tony had trusted that Loki would keep them from hearing him sound like a young soldier coming home crying to his mother. But then, if they heard and they thought he was ridiculous, and whispers came that Thor's friend was a coward, maybe it would just be fair. Loki was staring, his fingers holding the bag up, his free hand on the great tree carved into the doors, mirroring the exact same pattern in Thor's doors on the other side of the hallway. While Tony had never known Thor's chambers to be closed at all, Loki locked his room with a spell that only recognised his presence every time he was away.

“War is never fair, I don't think,” Loki said finally. “One side is bound to be better than the other and win. Both fighters get in the arena knowing they might lose. If those weren't the stakes, then the battle would have no sense, would it?”

“I know. General Tyr taught us as much. To treat every adversary seriously, and to make every fight the best you can give, and so on. But it seems... Looking at life like that means just tracing a line between _strong_ and _weak_. And even that is relative. But it doesn't mean the one on the weak side deserves to die.”

“You're having war-guilt. About the humans you killed? General Tyr himself says it is not uncommon. It happens to many warriors far older than we are, I believe.”

“Don't you ever?” Tony grimaced, the flat diagnosis making him feel like a child being scolded. “I serve my prince. They served their leader. I'm alive and they're dead. There’s nothing to say they deserved that fate more than I did.”

“Well,” Loki said. He closed the door behind Tony and sat on one of the couches in the little living room that greeted them. Silver flames were lazily gnawing half-burned logs in the hearth, making the bright afternoon light sharper. Loki unpacked his lunch, started eating grapes, and still didn't finish his sentence for a few long seconds. “Well, I said as much, I suppose.”

It took Tony an instant to connect that answer to his own previous words. Loki didn't add anything to that pretentious and simple statement. Tony didn't know what to answer, either. He sat next to Loki and pondered the selfish selflessness the prince admitted to. For a few seconds, they both just looked at the red grapes Loki was carefully selecting and eating.

“There is no reason for this dispute to reach us,” the prince said finally. “Father is sending a few troops to contain the fighting, but he is far more concerned about appearances than battle. You will not be called to fight right now. And Thor will not be allowed to charge into battle like an angry bilgesnipe this time, either.”

“But this is not the last Asgard will see of war, is it?”

“It can be the last you see. Freyjr of Vanaheim will yet remember you.” Loki's lips thinned as Tony shook his head slowly. “Or if it bothers you so, then I will stop interfering in your battles, and you can fight anew without the weight of knowing you're _cheating._ You know, out of all of Thor's little gang, I didn't expect _you_ to be so sensible about the way one wins-”

“Loki, Loki,” he protested, seeing Loki's calm slipping away into his cold, guarded stance. His face was blank, but his eyes were as bright now as they had seemed out of focus after his magic had been damaged on Midgard. “That is not my point. You know I think magic is as good as any weapon. I'm not... Norns above, I'm not complaining. I don't know how to repay you now that I realized, if anything. But,” he moved on quickly, seeing Loki's eyes narrowing, “I mean that I- I'm sick of all this fighting. I know we're doing it for everyone's good, alright? I'm not a coward, I'm not saying Asgard isn't doing what has to be done. I know our History, I know war is the tool that built the peace we have now... But I...”

“You what?”

Loki was shaking his head, looking - lost. It felt impossible that someone so clever couldn't see it. Couldn't see that, while their roots were bathed in blood, it was a terrible world to imagine, one where they had to keep death raining down on their branches to let them grow. And perhaps Loki was right and it wouldn't be  _today_ , but then what? What of tomorrow? What of the day after? What of Thor as a king, and Storm Giants, and coastal tribes, and men who desperately believed that war was the only way to secure their children's future, and those other times of peace that were evidently not meant to last forever? What of the terrible weight of a future meant to cost everything? 

It was too big to explain. Or maybe it was just too stupid. Maybe Tony was really the one who was being naive and didn't see the reality until now, while his friend had accepted it a long time ago. Loki was not one for senseless violence or battle for the glory of battle, but hadn't he said not a minute ago that he didn't mind making choices that meant life or death?

“I care for you,” he finally said, letting go in what felt like the only direction he could handle. “I care for Asgard, and you, and Thor. I don't think I'll be leaving Asgard. Working for Freyjr might be the best thing a blacksmith could hope for, but... I think I care more about my place here than about smithing. So I'm not trying to say I want to walk away from all this. From what we do. I'm still going to fight if there is fighting to be done. But it doesn't seem right to me to go out, looking for battle to beat boredom, and call it glory.”

“...I don't know why you're telling me this,” Loki answered after a few heavy seconds of silence. He sounded almost lost. “Thor is the one in charge of these adventures of his. If you want to suggest he stops them, you should speak to him.”

“Yeah, like Thor would get past that bit where you suggested I was being a coward? Look, I'm not asking anything from you...”

“You can't hope that _I_ will talk to him,” Loki interrupted, not having the decency of looking a little guilty at the reminder. “You know how he is. I tried to discourage those expeditions hundreds of times before, and hundreds of times he said I should just stay home if I didn't want to come.”

“I'm not asking for that,” Tony said a little more impatiently. “I'm not asking you anything, Loki. I'm telling you because _you_ usually care for what I think. You asked what I was scared of. I'm telling you. I'm scared that innocent people will be dying and I won't be protecting them because they're on the wrong side. I don't want to be a monster, be it the strongest monster there is. I'm scared of becoming a tyrant while we're too busy being powerful to stop and think. And yeah,” he said, and he found his lips were pulling up despite himself as he stopped Loki's protest, “yeah, I know. I know you're the only one of us who does the thinking part. You told us very often. So I guess that's why I'm telling you this, if you want to make me admit it. Because you're right. And I'm sorry I was a jerk. And I'm grateful you saved my life so I could get a headache over morality.”

He smiled as he finished, maybe because he was too embarrassed by his honesty not to hide it, maybe because Loki's face was absolutely priceless. Like being told he was right was so far outside of normalcy that he didn't have any reply to make. Which - was not actually that funny, considering everything. Still, how rare for the Silvertongue of Asgard to have his words taken from his mouth. Ah, Tony thought with bittersweet amusement, and all it had taken was to be  _honest_ . 

He had been right in his dying consideration. Talking about emotions outside of life-threatening injuries was definitely something they should do more often, generally speaking. But he supposed he was suggesting enough madness as was, saying prowess in battle wasn't the most important thing in his eyes anymore, without bringing up any other shocking thought.

“I'd have protected any of you,” Loki said at last, in an oddly defensive tone, like he was worried Tony's gratefulness was going to get him into trouble. “It is a warrior's first duty to defend his brothers in arms. Sif threw her shield in front of Thor many times, as I recall. And that time Fandral pushed Hogun out of the way of that serpent's venom. And besides, it's - I - I can't see the connection with your not wanting to fight anymore. I think you might still be in shock.”

He was flustered, toying with the knife he had taken out to cut his loaf of bread, quiet for a few moments. Tony saw his lips twitching just a little, like he was struggling to form his next words, and when they came, they seemed to do so with some difficulty.

“But you're... welcome, I suppose. And I forgive you, whatever you're - whatever you're sorry about. But you should know you're being very strange today,” he concluded just a little too quickly to sound like his usual judging self. “You should still think about Vanaheim, anyway. You can't decide this sort of thing impulsively. Battle or no battle, things will be very different in the decades to come, here. You shouldn't keep yourself from the opportunity just because- I don't know, you faced death or you feel indebted to someone, or whatever madness is making you sound the way you do today.”

“I'll think about it,” Tony agreed, so as not to argue about how long his decision had been taken. “Can I still stay here and sketch, even if you think I'm mad?”

“You've always been mad, Tony. You just usually keep your madness for your inventions,” Loki retorted, but he seemed to relax a little. He smiled at Tony in turn, still unusually subdued, yet closer to his usual self already. “I said you were acting strange, in any case, not that I minded. If anything, I might kick you out once you turn back. It's not unpleasant, having you admit to my superior intellect for once, and be sensible about battle for once. I _do_ hope you say it again in front of the others before you recover your senses.”

“I can't recall that I used those exact words, you know.”

“No, I'm quite sure it's specifically what you said. Right after saying Thor is an immature brat.”

“You're the brat, _Highness_. Hey, can I have a piece of that?”

“I don't even know why I keep you as a friend. You're useless,” Loki said, handing over the loaf, and picking up a second one Tony had not seen him put in the bag.

“Oh, I am? Then you'll be seeking another forger's help for that impossible belt you wanted, I take it?” He waved the bread reproachfully toward Loki. “I'll be charging you full price, just for that.”

“You will? After I saved your life?”

“I'm grateful, not stupid. Some of us have rent to pay, unlike a freeloader I know.”

Loki laughed, that undignified, cute little 'hehe' he usually only had when they were joking about things that would have been absolutely forbidden outside of the private walls of their friendship - like Thor being a brat, or the privileges of royalty. It had been a while, Tony realized, since Loki had actually laughed with him, and despite the nervousness that had built up in his stomach and was even now a ghostly reminder of all that was wrong and that he couldn't fix, that simple laugh, as proof that their friendship was still intact, made it worth the effort. Made it worth the choice.

He would stay in Asgard. He would stay at Loki's side. And if everything was wrong, and if Tony himself had done wrong, then he was not going to just accept it; he would make it better. He was Iron Man. That's what he did.

* * *

Unfortunately, the next few years only gave him the opportunity to improve on what he did best: weapons.

Despite Odin's efforts, the conflict that had begun in the North spread instead of finding a resolution. The King sent diplomats and troops to meet the local lords, and it almost looked for a while like the incident would soon be over with, but stubbornness, pure bad luck, and blood-thirsty idiots had stopped any treaty before it could have been signed, or so Loki had explained to him. The old lord refused to give in to anything that looked like a compromise; an unexplainably cold year starved the villages of the region into such despair that the few remaining neutral citizens ended up engaged on whichever side of the dispute convinced them the best that it was all the other side's fault; and some fools, growing impatient, took it upon themselves to seek an enemy to slay and caused unneeded conflicts with nomadic tribes.

“They started claiming that the tribes used their magic to cause the cold weather and the bad crops,” the prince had said, shaking his head and looking very tired. “They threatened to exterminate the whole clans if they didn't hand over their users of magic.”

“What did the tribes do?”

“Their witches are usually old, odd people who live without lovers or children and act as grandparents for the entire tribe. They said _they_ would kill anyone who touched a hair on their heads.”

“Well, that's fair,” Tony had said with a little grimace. He supposed united families were better than people sacrificing their own as scapegoats, even though Asgard really didn't need any new reasons to distrust seiðrmaðr more than was already the norm.

Thor's thousandth name day was coming up, and the conflict was on everyone's lips. Civilians joked about it at first, dismissing it as a distant trouble; but soon, the laughs stopped, and people indeed grew more nervous as incidents happened closer to the royal city. There were demands from nearby farms for royal protection, and scared citizens asked for more patrols around the city walls and for guards at the doors.

The trouble entered Asgardia nonetheless, taking the form of debates and disputes which spread like a poison in the city. Men in taverns would throw angry looks at their neighbors at the next table if they argued that Bestla had a point, or in turn would ask if they were of the same lazy, honorless kind as Ganglati. A merchant's shop was vandalized after he argued vehemently with a customer who supported the start of a new conquest; a retired lawspeaker gathered the approval of a large crowd for praising the new age that had been bought by wars, and saying that any who wished for a new bloodshed was disrespecting generations of soldiers, and then was found looking for shelter at his son's house after his own halls had nearly been set ablaze. Guards were interfering in brawls and disputes between increasingly large groups, and soon, even the soldiers were given new instructions to prevent being ambushed or attacked. 

Tony had never known Asgard to be so unstable. His master, Völund, didn't pick a side, but he did make sure the shop closed before dark every night, and severely forbade his workers from even discussing the matter. Customers didn't follow the rules, and Tony was starting to long for the day when he would again hear them speaking of the weather instead of criticizing the people for misbehaving, or the King for allowing it.

Tony had never heard such open criticism of the crown before. People now would speak out loud to say that letting the Jotnar live, at the end of the war, had been foolish softness. They would question the funding of schools and temples, suggesting the money should have been spent on military campaign. Tony had yet to hear anyone actually questioning Odin’s wisdom -but he suspected it was happening nonetheless, when nobody wearing a royal uniform was around to hear it.

Thor and Loki both stopped talking about the whole thing with them for a time. Judging from Thor's agitation, it was clear they were ordered not to speak of it, other than to plainly say it had been on the council's agenda during the day's meeting. Tony could see how the discomfort spread to the others, Sif and the three other men avoiding the topic even when the princes were not there. Warriors, ever faithful to the crown, were slowly being divided. Amongst the soldiers, none yet had been mad enough to agree with the agitators; but even in the barracks, some suggested that surely the people would not have been so galvanized by the promise of a fight if battles had not been left half-finished. In private, Loki told him it spread a lot of debate at the council table, with the war-god Tyr wanting to punish those loose-tongues and the old judge Forseti arguing that there was no interdiction to speak one's mind.

“The Allfather says it doesn't matter,” Loki summarized, crouching over a rune circle he was painting on his floor, “because punishing those soldiers would just make it seem like the crown fears what they have to say.”

“But it actually does, huh?” Tony completed, crushing herbs with a pestle following the prince's instructions.

“Fear it? Of course it does. But Laufey of Jötunheim would sit on Hlidskjaf sooner than that could be said. For six thousand years it has been held as fact that the king of Asgard is all-knowing and incapable of mistakes. There can be no doubt that it is still so today.” Loki looked too jaded to even roll his eyes as he usually would. “Thor suggested we could just forbid people from speaking their mind if their mind was against the crown. Father looked like he wanted to hit him. I said maybe the soldiers could be met by their superior, as a compromise, and he snapped at _me._ His exact words, that if Asgard had been built on compromises, it would not have been built at all. And every stubborn idiot on the council agreed, of course.” He groaned. “Sometimes I wish I had been born a peasant.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” Tony said. There was no point trying to comfort Loki by saying that Odin, in the past, had brought Loki's suggestions back to the table after considering them for a few days. It was not the problem at heart, so it seemed useless to discuss it. So he chose to go along with that last complaint, feigning a pensive pout. “You would have been a lovely milkmaid, in another life.”

“Why am I a woman in that other life?” Loki asked, effectively distracted.

“Eh, why not?”

Loki scoffed, and when Tony blinked, he found himself looking down at a beautiful young sorceress, crouching on the prince's chamber's floors. Green eyes sparkled at him in teasing provocation, even as the girl, still wearing Loki's leather pants and a tunic that had not been so tight on his male form, finished her sigils and stood. Tony needed a few long seconds to gather his wits - too long, as Loki noticed and laughed. It was his own laugh, just a little bit higher-pitched than usual.

“I'm still working on this,” he grinned, and there was a lighter twist to his words than before, like he was on the edge of laughing the whole time. “But your mentioning it was just too good a coincidence.”

“This is so weird,” Tony pointed out. It didn't even begin to describe it, but his words were stuck somewhere between his mouth and brain, refusing to get out.

“Is it?” Loki actually looked down at his own chest, where the fabric was tensed by two round things that were definitely not there ordinarily. Though, with his big coats and severe layers, Tony had no idea if his pectoral muscles were at all developed when they were not turned into - and why was he suddenly wondering that? “It does take some getting used to. But I'm oddly comfortable like this.” The prince caught Tony's eyes, and a smirk spread on his lips. A little fuller than usual, too. And his face, just somewhat more round, not much, his cheekbones were still there, right, Tony knew Loki had sharp cheekbones, it was pretty distinctive, nobody in his family had them, actually, when thinking about it. “Are _you_ uncomfortable, Anthony? Mm?”

“It's weird,” Tony repeated, which was a pretty weak response, especially when Loki was making fun of him. But it _was_ weird. This was his friend. As a girl. A cute girl. And he had never before today considered that Loki's black hair and his pale skin would have caught his eye if his friend had been of the other sex. In fact, his clever eyes, his tall stature, they were definitely qualities he would have been drawn to in a woman. And she now- _he_ now had just barely there curves, at his hips and in those small but definitely existing breasts. 

Right, yes, in fact, this was a woman he would have stared at, and admired, and maybe tried to joke with and drink with and see if she was as clever as she was pretty, and very possibly fallen very very hard for.

Except it was his friend, and it was his friend with very little changes to his usual self. And he had always known Loki was graceful in his fighting style, and he had known there were a few women to prefer his dark composure to Thor's golden strength. Facts, no problem, data and whatever. But Loki had to just go and blow up his internal filing system.

Yeah, he was uncomfortable. Not because Loki looked different from himself. Because he looked  _exactly_ like himself, with a few details changed. This wasn't one of his disguises, when he changed his hair colour or stole one of their appearances or posed as a soldier. Tony had once seen a (quite drunk) Loki shape-shifting into Thor and trying to use a tablecloth as a red cape. But this one change  _wasn't_ a disguise. That was the disturbing thing. 

“I'm not quite sure what that would be useful for,” Loki said, despite smiling at Tony's discomfort. “But I found this bit of theory in a book the other day -and I needed the distraction. Now that I see it's convincing, I suppose I'll use it to pick on Sif. Or perhaps I'll see if I can finally enter a Völur temple. They always saw through my shape-shifting in the past, but this spell works in an entirely different... Tony, are you actually in shock? I can't tell if this is insulting or flattering,” he frowned.

Tony shook his head and made himself close his mouth.

“It's very convincing,” he managed. “Sorry. It's just-”

“Do you stare at women that way? I can see why you haven't had a lady friend in ages.” Loki was suddenly back to himself. His voice dropped in the middle of a word, but the transition was otherwise perfectly smooth. He looked at Tony, and he was smiling, but still seemed a little intrigued. “You do look disturbed. Have I been so selfish in demanding your company that you have been without distraction for so long? Should I accompany you to the closest red-lantern house?”

“Yeah, like you'd walk in one of those places without staring like a maniac yourself,” Tony sneered, trying to remember his composure. He didn't let himself answer on the topic of his sex life. There was something warm in his belly that suggested he shouldn't even think about his sex life right now. “Stop picking on me. You surprised me, that's all. Doesn't change the fact that I've never seen you with a lady friend, period.”

“Ah, but I'm a prince. I need to save myself for any arranged marriage my father might want to force my precious body into. You're squeezing it very hard, there.”

“I -What?!”

“The pestle.” Loki was grinning from ear to ear. “You're going to get a cramp if you keep holding it like that. Are you done with the herbs?”

Tony muttered something about being interrupted by idiots, and Loki laughed, and they went back to speaking of the ritual the prince wanted to perform. He didn’t question the other things -because he didn't want to take the risk to find out if Loki was joking or not about the marriage thing. But as he resumed his work, he found himself thinking that maybe the near-death experience could only justify that many things. That possibly there was something more than he had been ready to admit in his decision to stay in Asgard after all.

* * *

The day after Loki turned into his female self, and with Tony having had less than twenty-four hours to think about whether he now actually wanted to exile himself far into the depths of Niffleheim and mingle with the snow pandas, everything descended into chaos.

Men around the city had already been arrested for initiating brawls or for insulting soldiers. But the matter of throwing a free man in jail for his opinions alone was a more complex one, and one that, if Loki was to be believed, divided even the higher spheres of the council. Odin had not officially condemned Bestla as a traitor, for reasons too political for Tony's understanding, and speaking in his favor did not count as a crime as fraternizing with an enemy of the crown did. 

It was a lovely, warm morning, almost lunch time, and Tony himself was in the market when it happened. That was the point, of course. The man had chosen a busy moment of the day, with artisans leaving their shops to get themselves something to eat, and with women of every sphere of society filling their baskets with food, and with men laughing and speaking in the shade of shop canopies. Everything was busy and lazy all at the same time, a perfect stage for someone who wanted to make a scene.

The man - Tony didn't get his name on that day, nor for a long time - climbed on a table cleared of its goods and started speaking. By the time Tony heard anything, a few young men wearing mismatched pieces of einherji uniforms were cheering around him. The merchant whose table was used was weakly demanding to have it back, but the man paid him no mind as he shouted to the startled crowd of shoppers about the 'choice to be made'.

He spoke loudly, passionately, but without aggression: the normal citizens needed to decide, he said, what sort of future they were going into, and what the future of Asgardia would be. He never gave his name, and his clothes were no indication of his fortune nor his status: a tall blond with a short-sleeved blood red tunic and leather armbraces taken from a regular soldier's uniform, he addressed the crowd in an unadorned speech about thinking of the future of their children, and deciding what sort of people they wanted to be remembered as.

Tony pushed discreetly through the crowd, brows furrowed, trying to see better. A fishmonger standing some distance from him yelled at the speaker that  _he_ , personally, wanted to be a man people didn't talk to when he was trying to sell his fish if they had nothing to say. Some laughter broke the crowd's stupor, but the man only stood taller, his face hardening a little. 

“And when you're out of fish, my good man?” He asked a little more bitingly. “When your nets come back empty, and your king tells you to sit down and starve, then what?”

Tony tensed. Around him, the crowd murmured, confused, defensive; but he could see some people frowning too, looking up like they were suddenly more keen on listening. For a few long minutes, the unknown speaker went on, as Tony moved around the market trying to find soldiers, about how the people of the North were being starved, even though clear, green lands were only waiting to be taken in dozens of locations. Gone were the meaningless pretty words; the man spoke louder, gaining in confidence:

“Do Storm Giants deserve to eat more than our own people?! Do the witch-loving tribes who steal from our crops?! Our own King believes so!”

Tony needed two more minutes to find a group of soldiers and get them to interrupt the discourse. They were an inexperienced patrol, young men tasked with keeping an eye on pickpockets and disputes between neighboring stalls, and were reluctant to act without an express order from their commander. But by that time, the man on the table had gone on and on about Aesir citizens having but crumbs to eat while resources waited just beyond a border the King forbade to cross - all in the name of peace with savages, he said. The discourse had grown close enough to lèse-majesté to make the soldiers willing to act; but even then, and even as the crowd nodded in agreement and booed the man as he was being taken away by the soldiers, Tony feared for the damage done. 

“Men were agreeing with him. I couldn't recognise them all, and they dispersed when I ordered the arrest,” he said to the Einherji captain he met a few minutes later. “But still there were murmurs. I feared he would cause a confrontation in the middle of a crowded place if his supporters grew too confident. I take full responsibility for ordering the arrest, Captain.”

“I'm not the one who gets to say if it was a wise choice, Man of Iron,” the guard said grimly. “But know I would have ordered the same had I been there. I'll report your action to my superiors when I ask them what to do with this big mouth.”

Tony had tried not to fret about it, but the incident had left him agitated nonetheless. The afternoon passed without any more news. He scrapped the project he was working on twice, almost expecting to see open fights in the street when he looked through the windows. He was watching metal melt with thoughts along the lines of  _how can people really be that desperate to go to war_ ? and  _there must be better solutions than this_ when he was startled by impatient knocking at his door - not the shop's door, but his own private work station's, used only occasionally by Völund himself, and even more rarely by, well, Loki. Had the prince heard of the incident already? They had not spoken of meeting today.

He was startled to find not only the dark-haired prince standing outside, but Thor as well, two steps behind his brother, and looking around like he really didn't want to be seen. Not only that, but both princes were in old riding armor: dark leathers for Loki, and a dark-blue and silver thing Thor had not worn for many decades now. 

“Hey, Highnesses,” Tony started, incredibly confused. “Can I, uh, help you, or...?”

“We are going to the border,” Loki announced without further salutation. “If the King finds out, we will be stopped immediately. We have no time to waste.”

“You _what_?”

“This conflict has lasted enough,” Thor growled more than he said. “We will end it at once. If my father will not act, then as future king, I shall. Are you coming with us, or not?”

Tony blinked, certain he was dreaming, or misunderstanding, or the two princes were making fun of him. But they definitely sounded serious, and glancing behind Thor, Tony caught sight of two saddled horses he recognised as geldings from the castle's stables, instead of the two princes' own horses. They were  _actually_ leaving the city without permission.

“You can't be serious.” He looked at Thor's determined expression, and back to Loki. The prince was looking right at him, his back fully turned to his brother. What sort of madness would make him change his mind? “This is insane. A man was arrested just this morning, speaking nonsense in the market. Did you even hear about it? You can't just- ride over there and, what, fight everyone into pretending nothing happened?”

“Oh, we heard,” Loki said.

“They suggest the line of Odin is cowardly,” Thor hissed. “We will show them at once. To hell with their war; they have insulted me and my kin, and now they shall pay for it.”

“We mustn't delay,” Loki picked up. “Our absence will be noticed soon enough. Tony, warn the others. Be discreet. Leave the city before nightfall and join us. We will camp outside and wait for you.”

“The two of you have lost your mind,” Tony protested, incredulous. Loki's face was a white mask, his eyes unreadable, refusing to realize that this was pure insanity. But the urgency was clear, Thor's agitation growing, and the two princes were _leaving_. “You want us to go, the seven of us with our weapons, like that will be enough to stop a full-out war?”

“If you will not join us,” Thor said, and he was putting a foot in a stirrup already, “then it shall be the two of us, Tony. And yes.” He gave a grin. “It will be more than enough."

He was so confident, anybody else might have considered he knew what he was doing. Not so long ago, Tony himself might have fallen for it. His hand rested on Mjölnir, like it held the answer to all of Tony's protests. Loki raised his eyebrows at him and smiled in turn, and suddenly he was climbing back on his own horse, preparing to leave.

“Wait! Norns damn it -of course I'm coming! But you guys can't just-”

“Good,” Thor laughed. “We'll meet you near Helgen Creek. Bring the others, and do not waste time. If at sunset you are not there-”

“I'm coming now,” Tony snapped. He needed to be with them, and he needed to make them change their mind, and any time they spent persuading themselves anew that it was a brilliant idea would make it that much harder.

Loki eyed him with a small frown, like he suspected the upcoming arguing.

“Getting your horse from the stables will be too long,” he pointed out. “We can't stay. It won't make you much longer to gather the others. Just make sure to be ready if the King asks any question about our position.”

“I'll follow in armor. If you think the two of you are enough, then the three of us is just as good.”

“But the others,” Loki started, his face hardening in disapproval.

“Our leaving them behind will keep Father from guessing where we went too fast,” Thor shrugged. “This is a personal matter, no less. I intend to demand a duel, not wage a battle. The two of you will be enough to assist me. If you're getting scared, brother, you know you can stay.”

“It would be the wise course of action, being scared,” Tony noted without much hope.

“They'll be angry we didn't warn them,” Loki said still, like he had not interrupted. “Even if they don't come, Tony should-”

“And you care for their feelings now? Enough,” Thor said, a little louder, harder than necessary. “I'm going. Feel free to come along, or not.”

He was pulling his reins already, and there was no time left to argue. Tony cursed and ran back inside to get his armor. By the time he caught up with the two brothers, they were already leaving the city centre behind, and they didn't stop to chat until well after they had exited the city. No guard stopped them, for the good reason that there were none in sight anywhere near the city walls - Loki's doing, Tony suspected, until the prince himself commented on it, remarking with irritation that the doors were unprotected and that the soldiers were failing their duties.

“Pah,” Thor said after glancing over his shoulder. “Just as well!”

He pushed his horse into a tölt, grinning with excitation, and Loki followed suit, his look of determination a match for his brother's as he placed an open palm on his blue roan's neck - a trick Tony had seen him perform in the past to give tired or poorly bred horses a steady rush of energy fed by his own magic. Behind them, the rocky cliffs of Asgard and the iridescent light of the Bifröst stood passive and quiet as the two princes rode away unnoticed.

There was no sign of slowing down and any project to camp at a reasonable distance to wait for companions was clearly given up. Tony made himself fly at a giant's height above Thor and Loki, following their speed and watching the road with his mind full of disbelief and doubts.

Coming along with them had been the obvious decision, the only choice to make to keep an eye on their safety and try to reason with them, but Tony was growing more and more worried that they had completely lost their mind. He couldn't remember both princes seeming so decided on a mission at the same time since he had known them - and he would have been pleased to follow them, not fifty years ago, happy to let himself be convinced as well that they were going into a daring, symbolic charge. The others, Sif and Hogun, Volstagg and Fandral, might have argued on the madness of the plan as he had, at first, but they, he felt, would have ended up laughing, following their future king into the peril with the certainty that it was the right thing to do - the next page to write in Asgard's history, epic and glorious and daring enough to fit in there.

But that Loki would have followed - that, Tony could not figure out. Loki, who with him had discussed the fighting at length, Loki who had shaken his head when Tony had asked how  _he_ would fix it and said he was wondering about it still; Loki, whom Tony had trusted with telling him  _he_ didn't want to ride into such mad, dangerous charges as the one they were leading. 

Maybe, he thought, looking at the blond and black haired figures below, maybe he  _should_ have stayed. Maybe he should have told them to wait after him, and, instead of gathering the others, gone to the Allfather to tell him what his sons were doing. The thought was - disturbing. He had never spoken directly to the King of Asgard, and telling on his friends - it seemed simply cruel. They were headed for danger now, but would it have been a better choice to unleash the fury of the tired Allfather on their disobedience? The urgency of making a choice had swayed him. He had feared letting them out of his sight, and he had held to the hope of making them see reason. But Loki was right about this, too. When had Thor ever given up on anything? 

The sun slowly set over the horizon. The sky was cloudy, the darkness thick and the air fresh, yet the brothers kept riding, with Thor ahead and Loki just a few paces behind. It wasn't until complete nightfall that the younger prince called for a halt, near the base of a monstrous shadow of a mountain.

“We're past the last village defended by Einherji,” Loki pointed out, indicating in the distance the vague outline of a town, cut out by rare torches and flickering lights in windows. “We still have at least a full day of riding. The horses need a break.”

“I don't like stopping this close,” Thor said, his voice rough in the quiet night. “We should ride a few more hours, and rest when we come in sight of our goal. I want to gather my forces before I challenge this Bestla to a duel.”

“The disputed area will take five hours to cross, at the very least. If it's a duel you challenge him to, then the lord will have to provide you with comfort and rest before the battle. Those are the rules. Any victory won without following them would be disputable and honorless.”

“Eh, not that he will win,” Thor remarked, smiling as Tony landed near him. “What do you say? Shall we rest?”

“Yeah, I've been meaning to ask for a break for hours now. You guys didn't let me go to the bathroom before we left. We're stopping,” Tony replied, and didn't return Thor's laugh or his slap on the back.

They set up camp, and anxiety gnawed at his belly as he joined the two brothers near a small fire Loki had built. The younger prince showed his first sign of the day of still being himself when, disbelieving, he saw the supplies Thor had brought with them.

“Turkey legs and wine? You didn't let me go to the kitchens, claimed you had everything we might need - and you have only this?!”

“We're not in a military campaign, Loki,” Thor shrugged. “We won't need anything else before we make it to the North. You did insist how short the trip was!”

“I _said_ I couldn't teleport us there because of the proximity with the castle's defenses. It didn't mean we wouldn't have to eat along the way. Tony is with us!”

“We'll have enough,” Thor said, rolling his eyes. “Will you cook them, now, or should we eat them raw on top of everything?”

“Oh, should we? I don't know. What would you have done, if I had stayed home?”

“You know you're incapable of staying back while I'm going on an adventure,” Thor grinned.

Loki's jaws clenched slightly, and Tony held his breath, hoping for an instant that the disrespectful tone would do it, that Loki would remember that everything about this was  _madness,_ if only out of spite, and that together they could fix whatever was left of this terrible situation. But the prince only held his hand out, looking impatient, and Thor smiled with satisfaction as he took to cooking their meat over the small fire. 

“So, um,” Tony tried, growing more concerned. “What decided you guys to make the trip now?”

“I have waited enough,” Thor said with a large smile, and in the fire light, Tony wondered for an instant if the prince was serious or if he was making fun of him. But Thor slapped his shoulder fondly, with no hint of sarcasm whatsoever, nor anything to imply he was less than a hundred percent sure of what he was doing. “You'll see. Once this is done, then everything will go back to normal. Better than before, even! I know not why we wasted so long debating and arguing about this. I should have done this from the start.”

“Just to be clear - you're planning to challenge Lord Bestla to a duel. And once you win, he'll give up on his claims?” Tony risked a glance at Loki, but the dark-haired prince was not looking at him, busying himself with the fire and a vial of herbs he had pulled from one of his shadow-pockets. Tony always teased him for all those trivial things he kept within reach with magic, because he found it incredible and very amusing both that Loki could, at any time, reach into magical, out of their dimension storage, and pull out a tafl game, a pitcher, or a potted plant native to Nidavellir without any effort. At the moment, he was wondering why his friend hadn't told Thor to cook his own food, if he was so clever. “I mean, you don't think that's... A little _too_ simple?”

“The simplicity of it is what makes it perfect,” Thor grinned. “The man can only lose, fighting me, though I shall ensure that he is given his chance. It is an old custom - Loki says so - but it is his own honor Bestla will wager if he does not agree to the demand, or if he refuses the consequences of his defeat. The man asks for a return to older times; I will give him an older way of pleading his cause.”

“Do we know what sort of fighter he is? Are you prepared for a duel?”

“I'll see what sort of weapons he favors when I get there. He used to be a general in our armies, so it will be nothing I cannot handle.” Thor chuckled. “You worry too much. You sound like my brother. Come on, have you ever seen me lose a fight?”

“You've never done something like this,” Tony said, unable to deny the fact. “I just fear that... This might not be an honorable opponent. Yet we're speaking of a man of Asgard. The consequences...”

“Anthony. He called the Allfather a coward. To Hel with the consequences - this is the only right thing to do. And if I cannot do it without angering my father, then so be it - it's time I prove to him that I'm ready to lead. Perhaps better than he can.”

“Almost ready,” Loki called.

“Ah. Be right back,” Thor said, standing.

“Wash your hands before you come back,” Loki ordered to his brother's retreating back. He was looking at his cooking, giving no indication of how he felt about Thor's passionate claims. When he found Tony staring, he just smiled. “I _do_ have some nuts and half a piece of bread, if you want a decent meal.”

“Are we pretending all this is normal?” Tony blurted out, unable to hold himself back. “Loki - this is madness. I don't know what's worse, that we're headed toward a fight we know nothing about, or that your father will kill all three of us when he finds out. You can't believe that a duel will fix this conflict, there is no way Thor can just show up and...”

“You heard him,” Loki replied, his words carefully detached. “It became _personal._ Thor's honor is on the line; it's no longer about the conflict.”

“That's even worse! This isn't the time to play hero! People are dying all around the northern regions, and the rest of the realm is watching, you said so yourself not a week ago! The people need to be reassured that their king _is_ wise, that he can unite his people again! No matter what happens, Thor riding alone to demand a duel will prove the exact opposite!” Tony lowered his voice, glancing behind his back to ensure Thor was out of hearing range. “Loki, this isn't like you. There's no way you can't see this is a terrible idea!” 

“I do see it,” Loki said. He was no longer smiling, but everything about him seemed cold and careful, like he refused to let Tony's agitation get to him. “I am perfectly aware of it.”

“Then what in Helheim are you doing? We need to stop him! Why did you encourage him, talking about duels-”

“There was very little encouraging to do at all,” Loki cut him off. “All I did was to tell him that there was nothing he could do without disobeying our father. Everything else was his own decision. It really was just a matter of time. I simply hurried his choice a little.”

Tony stared in disbelief, more and more convinced that Loki had, in fact, gone mad. But the way he spoke, like this was all going according to plan - like he was explaining how he had tricked enemy soldiers into going away, or falling into a trap - it was all him. The one thing wrong was his siding with Thor's insanities. Worse - encouraging them. _Hurrying_ them. Loki had always discouraged Thor's ideas, diverted them into more reasonable ones. And Thor laughing, and giving him orders, and Loki not replying. Quiet. Waiting. 

It clicked. Tony's mouth fell open - how had he not seen this from the start? It was - no, it wasn't Loki being unlike himself. It was Loki being  _exactly_ himself - but in what terrible way?

“You're exposing him,” he said. “You're letting him do this so your father will see he is not ready.” He felt something like admiration rising in him, but it was washed away by panic. No, it wasn't right. It was fair, it probably was fair, and Tony _wanted_ Loki to stand for himself, he wanted Thor to see for once how his little brother had always been helpful, but this? This was no way to fix things. “Loki, this is - people are dying. You can't let Asgard take the blow just to prove something! It's not okay!”

“People are dying no matter what,” Loki remarked. “Isn't it better to control a small crisis now than to let everything fall to chaos later when he receives a crown that doesn't suit him? Evidently, our father will not act until Thor's irresponsible behavior brings in actual consequences.”

“You can't play with this like you're moving toy soldiers on a map! You could have just _talked_ to the King-”

“Don't you think I _tried_?” Loki's jaws clenched, and his next words came out like a snake's hiss, his eyes bright with emotions that had not been there an instant before. “You think I'm not thinking of consequences?! This has been going on for _weeks_. Today Thor argued with his father, and I interfered, and Odin yelled at _me_. Not even to tell me to shut up, no, he didn't _speak_ , he said it so often these days, I suppose he figured I knew it by now, wouldn't I, so he just yelled like I was an untrained dog doing something wrong, in front of the entire council, in front of my weaponmaster, in front of all the gods. And then - oh, then he told _Thor_ to shut up, it was the first time he told _him_ , so when Thor left all offended, I went after him, and what did _he_ tell me, Tony? My brother? He told me to _know my place_.” He stopped abruptly, and he seemed out of breath, like he had just stopped running. His face was pale and his eyes shined with actual _tears._ He swallowed hard, still, and continued before Tony could say anything. “Clearly what I have to _say_ is worthless to the crown. Odin takes my warnings as jealousy and the coronation is coming undisputed; what was I to do, Tony? Tell me, am I also the villain for letting Thor do this? Am I to blame for my brother's mistakes, too?”

He finished in a rageful, desperate voice Tony had never heard from him. His shoulders shook, the mask of his face broken by lines of anger and despair as he kept staring at Tony, like he truly needed an answer, like he was pleading Tony to deny it.

And Tony had never felt such an urge to pull a man into his arms, and to hug him hard and say it would be okay. He had never felt the need to hug anyone as much as he did now, like somehow if he was quick enough he could hug him so hard his breaking pieces would stick right back together, and the pain and anger and madness would melt away off of him.

“Loki...” He didn't know what he wanted to say. It wasn't his thing; he was one for logic and mathematics, not for feelings and words. He didn't know what the right thing to say was, didn't know what words could fix this - were there any, really? He'd thought himself so clever, thought he had finally understood everything, but this tangled web of anger, of pain, of resentment was so far beyond anything he could just _fix_. He wanted to say that Loki was better than this. He wanted to say that Thor was a fool, and sometimes even a selfish prick, but that he didn't mean to cause him pain. He wanted to say that Odin had always been King before he was a father, and Loki shouldn't care for the old cruel bastard's opinion. But he didn't have Loki's skilled tongue, he couldn't catch his words up to his heart and worries, and all that he managed was, “Loki, there has to be another way. A _better_ way. Together, you and me, we must be able-”

“I wanted you to alert the King,” Loki said. It didn't look like he had even heard him. He blinked furiously, eyes on the fire. “We would have been far enough by the time he heard, and there would have been no denying the purpose of the trip. But now we're too far gone, and Odin will need hours, perhaps days to find the path we took. It will be too late when he does. We can't fix this, you understand? It's too late. We might as well finish it.”

“No. No! Loki, you're not thinking straight, come on. You're smarter than...”

Footsteps in long grass, coming closer, made him shut his mouth. He saw Loki mouthing a curse and squeezing his eyes shut, just an instant before Thor appeared in the orange glow of the fire - and paused, frowning.

“Is everything alright?” He asked.

Tony looked at Loki, and despite everything, managed to be startled by the illusion the prince had cast, either by magic or by sheer force of will. It took him an effort to notice how Loki's chest was still rising and falling too fast, but everything else was in order: no tears, no shaking, no madness nor anger.

“We were talking behind your back,” Loki answered pleasantly.

“It sounds like you,” Thor said, though he seemed only half-convinced. “Not changing each other's mind, I hope. I'm not afraid of carrying on alone if you two want to give up, but it'd certainly be harder to appear serious in my demands to Bestla.”

Tony hesitated one instant too long. Loki was already ahead of him, and claiming that they had been discussing Thor's terrible idea of what a nutritious meal was. Thor let himself be convinced, laughing, and they were soon eating the turkey legs (Loki warned them any complaint would make sure they had nothing but roots and bugs to eat for the rest of the trip). They sat together around the campfire, in the peaceful quiet of the night. Tony listened without heart to Thor's excited claims, wondering if he could make him realize that things were not so simple as he hoped, or if Thor wanted them to be so desperately that he would never see reason.

Insects chirped and the occasional bird cawed, and the stars painted the infinite horizon with the constellations of the late summer: chariot, wolf, necklace, and so on. Loki was acting as though all was well, betrayal as invisible as Thor's insensible behavior was obvious. Tony's stomach was heavy with dread as he mentally traced the lines of the stars, supposedly splashes of blood from the gruesome creation of the universe. Humans believed - or at least they used to believe - that Odin had crafted the universe himself, using the corpse of the first giant Ymir to fashion the earth and sky. Aesirs knew the world to be far older than the Allfather, of course, and they knew that Yggdrasil was but a piece of a much bigger world. Yet the mortals had reasons to believe such stories, for even to immortal beings, the might of gods was an incredible thing; and to the gods themselves, Odin's blood was the most powerful.

But Thor and Loki were not stories. They were not yet beings of legends whose deeds became history and whose decisions justified the way the world stood. They were a pair of idiots, one too happy, the other too sad, both neglected by a King who was evidently no wiser than any other man with a missing eye.

Tony had never been more awed by royalty than the average man. He was a disrespectful, shameless, arrogant blabbermouth, as Loki described him with something like affection, and calling both princes his friends had certainly made him worse in that regard. For the first time, though, he was horribly aware that his friends were both men with the power to destroy entire worlds, and that, each in their way, they might very well make use of it without meaning to. And - his blood was running cold at the thought - if they did, then that would be it. Their life would become legend, and legend would become history, and Asgard would be the tale of how a warrior with the impatience of a child and the word  _honor_ burned in his mind had started a war after a wizard boy with a broken heart had pushed him that way, just to prove himself and the world that he  _could_ . 

Yeah,  _Hel_ no with that. 

“Guys,” he said. Both princes fell silent and looked at him, Thor with confusion, Loki with a frown. He shook his head. “You know what? This has gone on long enough. We're out of the city, you can't have me arrested, so I'm going to say it: the two of you are-”

“Tony,” Loki said, eyes widening.

“No, you listen to me, Loki. You're my best friend, and you're clever, and I need you to get outside of your own head. And you, Thor, you need to _listen_ for once in your life, not just nod and wait for your time to talk, okay? You're acting like a real spoiled brat.”

“Excuse me?” Thor asked, his disbelief twisting his smile into a hurt, incredulous thing. “If this is some attempt at jesting-”

“Shut up!” Loki's voice pierced the quiet night.

“Hey, you need to let me talk,” Tony said, raising his hands. Right, bad start. Maybe too direct. “Look, I'm not trying to insult you. Either of you. But this is an intervent- Loki, what ar- AH!”

Loki's hands were suddenly on his chest, pushing him  _hard,_ and Tony fell down with the prince tumbling down with him down the uneven ground, away from the fire and into wet grass. A heavy grunt to his side suggested Thor had gone the same way, and he wondered for an instant if this was how he went - wrestled to death by offended princes for speaking his mind with bad timing. He grimaced, half expecting to get a mean punch in the face or to be stabbed before he could say sorry; instead, a cold hand with a smell of dirt and grass forcefully kept his mouth shut. In his panic, he ran a quick analysis: palm on his jaws, nails on his cheek, thumb somewhere near his ear. Long fingers, skin soft like a girl's instead of thick with callouses. Loki's then. His mind raced, and he willed it not to. It would be very inappropriate to die with thoughts of how he might actually feel desire for a male, if the male in question was the one killing him. 

“What _is it_?!” Thor growled next to him, and Tony wondered if he was honestly asking for the end of his argument to decide how to smite him. But Loki answered before he could, voice icy. 

“Someone's looking for us. Be _quiet_.”

“Someone? Who?”

“Quiet!”

Tony blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the absence of the fire. Loki had released his grip on his mouth, but was still mostly lying on him, evidently trying to stay still despite his ragged breath. From the corner of his eye, Tony could see Thor's blond hair, too easy to notice in the dark vegetation. They were only a few paces away from their fire. They would quickly be found, if anyone was in fact looking for them. A rush of hope coursed through him: could it be that Odin had noticed they were gone so fast, after all? The King's anger seemed a small thing to face in comparison with the chaos the brothers might have unleashed otherwise. He didn't know he trusted Odin to put sense in his sons' head, but to stop this danger, for a start, would be more than enough...

They held their breath, listening carefully. Discreet footsteps on the old dirt road came first: no horses, but several men, perhaps a dozen of them, and making a silent approach. They would have missed the noise, had they not been waiting for it. Were the Einherji afraid they had found somebody else, or concerned they would try to escape? Tony wondered if his friends would ever forgive him if he called out now. What if Loki hid them from sight? What if this was their one last chance to go back? His worry increased as moments passed, and the movement came closer, and closer, and still they seemed to remain invisible as silhouettes shadowed in capes stopped just a few steps away, around their fire.

“Where are they?” A voice asked, piercing the quiet. It was a man's voice - rough and unrefined, with an accent Tony didn't know well. “They couldn't have left without Fraegiligr sensing it.”

“Their fire was just tended to,” said another. He sounded older than the first, yet the accent was the same: consonants like he wanted to spit them out, Rs coming from a deep spot in his throat. “They can't be far.”

“Hiding?” The first man sounded impatient, or maybe just nervous. “If they are, we might not have the right place. She said we would be met with battle.”

In the dark, Tony looked at Loki, then Thor. The previous dispute was not forgotten, but it was set aside, and, wordlessly, they understood each other. The accent could have meant nothing, but the words made it clear those were not soldiers of Asgard. Or at least, Tony supposed, not  _their_ Asgard. Loki gave Thor a silent nod; the blond prince carefully sat up in the grass, and took Mjölnir from his belt, preparing to strike. Loki's eyes met Tony's through a veil of tension, yet the prince signaled to him, too. They crouched in the grass and listened carefully, weapons at the ready.

“They have a user of magic with them,” a third man said, causing some of his companions to glance around a second time, more nervously than the first. “It's not strange they would be able to hide. She predicted this.”

“What, like a slave?”

“What else?”

“Sickening,” someone said, and others agreed quietly.

“We'll judge them when we have them,” one of the first men said. “Did you tell her what we found yet?”

“I'm on it. Keep looking, just in case.”

With an exchange of glances, they agreed. Thor gave the signal, throwing himself into the ring of the fire's light with Mjölnir in hand. The first men were thrown down before the others realized what was happening. Loki and Tony gave them no chance to recover from their surprise, and the fight was almost too easy: the men had relaxed their stance and were slow to lift their sword and face them. In the half-darkness, Tony could see mismatched pieces of armor and various sorts of weapons: if this was an army, then it was a poorly organized one. Someone screamed for retreat, and the men were quick to obey, running from the fire's side and into the darkness in opposite directions. Bird calls and guttural screams suggested they were regrouping out of their sight. Tony stopped a runner by throwing an arm around his neck and locking it there.

“Who are you? What is the meaning of this?”

The man struggled, but didn't answer. His wide eyes suggested he had not expected to fight an armor like Tony's, but, if he was scared, he was still not considering cooperation over flight.

“Who are those people?” Thor growled, glancing around and finding no more opponents.

“They knew too much,” Loki pointed out. “This is worrisome. We need-”

An arrow whistled at his ear. The second assault was less disorganized, but no more effective. The fighters were not trained, it was becoming evident. Tony released his prisoner with a hard shove, blocking hits and pulling swords out of hands, but trying not to do any lasting damage, even as he grew increasingly frustrated with confusion. The men retreated without discipline when their chance turned, but their strikes were passionate and aimed to do real damage, their teeth showing in anger. Pieces of exchanged cries made it clear they were trying to take them prisoner, warning each other against delivering too hard a blow or killing them by accident. It was useless anyway: despite their great number, they were making no progress. Thor dispersed them with wide movements, and Loki's illusions kept breaking their formation as they searched for the real one. They only managed to be irritating, made unpredictable by their lack of discipline - until, at least, their first demonstration at something like coordination.

“DOWN!” One of them cried out from over the other side of the fire, and Tony's two opponents ducked with startling speed. Tony only had the time to look up and see that all other fighters had done the same, and think that he should probably follow suit.

Then the magic hit them.

What sort of spell it was, he didn't know and could not guess. The magic felt as electrifying as one of Thor's lightning bolts. There was none of the usual disorienting brush of Loki's seiðr on his skin; instead, it felt like a shockwave resonating through his bones and skull. His nerves tensed and pulsed like a harp's string, causing no true pain, but making him want to lie on the ground until his heart stopped vibrating; yet any movement felt impossible, or at least far more demanding than it should have been, like his limbs were fighting him the entire way.

“Make this stop!” Thor yelled, though Tony could hardly make out his words. It could have been an order to the enemy, but Loki hissed in answer nonetheless:

“Don't you think I'm _trying_?!”

Turning his head toward the brothers felt like trying to lift the world on his shoulders. Loki's brows were furrowed with concentration, but his expression was disbelieving, almost offended. He didn't know the spell any better than Tony did, Tony realized. Thor was pushing against it, but even his strength seemed to waver under the invisible impulse of magic. The fighters on the ground were watching them warily, evidently waiting for the right moment instead of taking advantage of their current state. Which meant the incapacitating wouldn't stop when the spell did and allowed them to move. 

They were trapped. By an unknown magic user, and for unknown motives. But Tony could guess that anyone who wanted to capture the two princes of Asgard alive was his foe, whatever the reasons.

Well, as the humans were fond of saying,  _fuck_ .

“HEIMDALL!” He screamed, pulling the words from some unpleasantly shaking place in his chest. “Open the Bifröst!”

The brothers opened wide eyes. Only Odin's family and a few officials were ever allowed to order the rainbow bridge to open for them. Tony had no idea if the Guardian god could even hear his call, or if only some kind of old magic could summon his Sight - but they were way past checking hypotheses and worrying about hierarchy. Loki looked at him in shock; Thor gritted his teeth, both probably reluctant for very different reasons to call their father's servant to aid them. Yet it was only the matter of a second before the oldest prince forced his head up toward the sky and repeated his call in a thundering voice.

“No! Stop them!” soldiers cried out. “Have her end the spell! They have to stop yelling!”

“HEIMDALL!” Thor roared.

Dark clouds gathered ahead. The spell broke, suddenly ending the pressure and the shaking - but leaving behind the awful vibrating sensation and the heavy weight. Enemies jumped to their feet, moving on him and the princes. Too slow.

The Bifröst pierced the night in a blinding flash, suddenly drowning them in multicolored light. The fighters threw themselves back, screaming as though burned, yelling orders over one another. Tony braced himself, having never been so grateful to see the beam of light engulfing him to bring him back home.

The bridge activated itself. The ground disappeared. Yet something went wrong. At the last second, a piercing scream, raw and wild as that of a possessed mind, shook the world once more. Tony's senses were too overwhelmed still to perceive what happened, and he stared without understanding, even as the endless tunnel of the rainbow bridge suddenly moved out of his way, like he had been plucked from it by an invisible hand.

It took a dizzying, horrifying moment of seeing the darkness all around and the distant lights of far away stars spinning madly as he fell for him to realize that it was exactly what had happened.

Even Aesirs were not meant to wander the cold nothingness of space. Tony only had the time to formulate the thought that people weren't supposed to fall when there was no gravity to pull them down before he passed out.

* * *

“There now, that's it. Time to wake up. Not asking so much, am I?”

Tony came out of a long path of confused dreams and lost thoughts with an indistinct migraine and wondering to some extent who he was. It was a concern that kept him busy for a long enough moment, as he tried to piece together his memories and thoughts, that he didn't immediately start wondering  _where_ he had ended up.

By the time Tony Stark, blacksmith beyond compare, debatable genius, warrior of Asgard, and either the friend or the once-friend of Thor and Loki of Asgard, came to his senses, and was well enough to question his location, he had already navigated enough of Sakaar to be past the initial disbelief of such a place being able to exist according to all known laws of the universe, and without anyone having ever heard of it. There was something to be said about that space between consciousness and its absence for the way it made it somewhat easier to roll along with things.

He had woken up to light taps on his face, a cold towel on his forehead and a man encouraging him to regain consciousness with an attitude somewhere between that of a concerned mother and a condescending nurse. The stranger had praised his waking up skills and had made him change with what seemed like a well-rehearsed assortment of high-pitched encouragements. Disoriented, Tony had traded his old clothes, torn and stained with soot, for the odd combination of a red tunic with no sleeves, but a small cape to cover his shoulders, and something that was more skirt than pants reaching down to his heels in soft, wool-like brown fabric. The final impression was that of either an old but colorful hermit mage or a bearded housewife, but Tony didn't see any mirrors before it was too late. It also didn't occur to him to ask where in the nine realms his armor had gone, and by the time he did demand answers, he couldn't find anybody who seemed to even know he had worn an armor. 

This, and the time it took him to start asking all the other important questions that came to mind, could in part be explained by the fact that it seemed nobody in Sakaar had any more than ten minutes to spend with him. His welcoming committee consisted of no less than a dozen strangers, walking in and out of his vision, giving orders and advice, complimenting him, bringing him food, or just looking at him with curiosity. The one who had helped Tony wake and dress had gone without him noticing and didn't come back. A woman with two heads sat with him while he ate an oddly-coloured gourd's flesh, ensuring he cleaned his plate before taking it away. A pair of men that might have been twins murmured to each other and watched him like a curiosity. People moved on and about like they were searching for something: entertainment, or work. They busied themselves with the light laughter of nobles during a fair, or moved with the quick determination of servants on a mission, pausing one way or another to look at Tony for a while before moving on to other things.

Nobody gave him any clear indication, and he didn't ask questions. It just seemed like his presence was already accepted, and some survival mechanism made him go along with it for a while. He eventually stood as well, and wandered. Nobody stopped him, so he explored his surroundings curiously. Several hours went by, and he discovered a labyrinth of rooms, hallways, possible art installations, impenetrable light barriers. He stopped in front of a gigantic window, admiring a pale red sky and precarious structures, and thought to himself that an asgardian architect might have wept over this. The idea made him frown, and he slowly came to his senses, full of questions and worries.

There was no use, he quickly found, in making a scene. Sakaar, for he did manage to get the name of the place, was a chaotic, busy place, and nobody seemed to know for sure who was in charge, if anyone. Once somebody walked away, it was a rarity to have any answer as to who that person had been, let alone how to find them. Some would stop and talk easily, good-naturely answering his questions; others just giggled, like both his politeness and his impatience were incomprehensible oddities. 

What he did learn, on his first day, was this:

Sakaar was not a city; it was the entire planet. It comprised, amongst other relevant landmarks, the tower he was in, endless junkyards, anarchically built habitations, a great arena, and a lot of statues, but nothing that grew in the ground. The various holes in the sky dropped all sort of things on the city, which sometimes destroyed the habitations, but were nonetheless a source of joy for the people, who welcomed with open arms whatever food, vehicle, old couch, or person fell through them.

Tony had fallen through one of the holes. Nobody could quite confirm that, but it was the only logical way he could fill in the gap between leaving Asgard and waking up here. Despite the fact that Sakaarians did eat people, Tony had lived long enough to end up in the tower; the two-headed woman, when he found her again, remarked that he would evidently not have been a very tasty bite. What made her say so was another mystery, but one he decided was not a priority.

He was alive because he had been chosen. This was the information he got from the most people, yet none of them offered a satisfactory explanation. When people fell, and they were not food, he was told, then they usually were left to fend for themselves. They became scrappers and survived in the junkyard (or something, several added, with evident uncertainty as to how that part would work). If such was not the case, then it was because they were offered a chance to live a glorious life in Sakaarian society. Why were they thus privileged? Well, who knew. Was it a revocable decision? Oh, absolutely.

Who had brought him in the Tower, and for what purpose - of that, nobody could give him the smallest idea. Had he been alone when he had been found or had there been other men with him? Had Loki and Thor made it through the same path as he, only to be abandoned amongst broken spaceships and falling objects? Had they been  _eaten_ by scrappers who had figured they looked tastier than he did? 

Who here might know? If the Tower was forbidden to the scrappers, then who was in charge of it? The Sakaarians told him about the Grandmaster with awed, yet suspiciously careful words. He was the benevolent ruler of the entire planet. He provided his people with endless entertainment and cared to keep the planet a grand, beautiful place. But Tony should not ask to see him. The Grandmaster was a very busy man, and it didn't do well to bother him with trivial matters. 

Running out of leads, Tony had grown insistent about asking around for his friends. No, nobody had seen a pair of warriors being welcomed in. Some expressed regrets about not seeing Thor as he described him: he sounded, they sighed, like he would be so much fun. Whatever this meant, he was growing quite certain that Thor was nowhere inside the Tower.

Many Sakaarians didn't bother long with his questions, and he had taken to asking about Thor first; not because he would have preferred to find him, but because, seeing the strange people of Sakaar, he had told himself Thor would have been the easier of the brothers to spot. His luck was such that it was only after two days of search, having slept a nervous sleep in quiet corners and eaten from buffets, that he was given a positive answer - about Loki.

“Wait, you're serious?” He stared at the- person in front of him. The individual had no eyes, their mouth didn't open nor move, and their snow white face was so blank as if it was an unfinished child's doll, but they nodded patiently. “You've, uh - seen him? Black hair, just a little bit paler than me, this tall? Yes? You're sure? Can you- can you _please_ tell me where he is?”

The faceless person patted his arm in what seemed like a friendly way. Then they placed their hands above their head, and formed two recurving lines. 

“Yes! That's him - he wears horns like that! Please, how can I find him? When did you see him?”

For an answer, the stranger placed a finger on their chin, just below their immovable mouth. Tony stared in confusion: was he being told to be quiet? 

“Can you- is there any way you could write it down? Or show me the way? Please. It would really be... Uh- you- you can't see? No? I can't see. I can't see what? I can't see my friend?”

The stranger removed their hands from in front of the blank space where their eyes would have been, and nodded. Then they made a quick gesture with their thumb and pinky finger lifted, patted Tony's arm once more, perhaps as encouragement, and waved goodbye, leaving him to wonder if he had gotten any actual answers.

In the following days, a woman in leather armor and authoritative behavior told him she didn't like people who asked questions, and would throw him out of the Tower if she met him again. An old man with eyes all over his body told him that he had, in fact, seen Loki, but said he would not bring Tony to him for all the units in the world. A creature that was more fly than man - or so it seemed - buzzed enthusiastically, and placed one of its - hands? Paws?- on his mouth in a conspiratory way. Tony found an exit, for the first time during his stay, but decided not to leave yet, fearing he would not be able to get back in.

He was starting to doubt Thor and Loki had even landed here. Perhaps he had been the only one to be pushed out of the Bifröst, and, at this time, both princes were back home in the palace. He tried to imagine what they would be doing, and how Odin would have welcomed them. Would Loki have managed to expose Thor's impulsive behavior enough for the King to act? How would Thor react to what he would certainly see as betrayal? And the two of them, did they think of him with anger? Were they looking for him?

Some part of him, a part that was especially active when he was trying to sleep, curled up against a giant window with the cherry red sky throwing up debris in the distance as distraction, was wondering if they would miss him - or if they would think it was good riddance. If the other Warriors would hear of what had happened. He wondered if Loki would show them his new spell, and save their life, and hate them quietly. If he would miss the long afternoons they spent together.

Despair was the enemy of action. Tony didn't allow his mind to wander down that path often. Instead, since he couldn't find his friends, he set up to plan B: leaving the damn planet by himself, and finding his way back home.

For that, he needed to know where he was in relation to Asgard and how long the trip would be, to steal a ship capable of making it that far (or enough resources to improve a lesser ship as he went), and to ensure he lived long enough to make it happen - which seemed to imply he would need to steer clear of the Grandmaster, and of whoever the angry armored woman had been. Easy.

Of course, it didn't quite go according to plan.

He started by trying to find out more information about the few not-destroyed ships that he noticed circling the planet without clear patterns: though he was quite sure now they were owned by scrappers and others who lived outside of the Tower, there was perhaps some chance that a decent pilot somewhere on Sakaar could give him an idea of which star system he was even in. He didn't even complete a full morning of his routine of asking questions of everyone who looked friendly enough and avoiding everyone who didn't before something new interrupted. 

A woman with tanned skin presented herself to him. For the first time since Tony was on Sakaar, she seemed to have searched for him, specifically. She was clad in a dress that seemed weaved of gold, and her dark hair had been worked into an odd work of art; unlike most people Tony had seen in the tower, she looked like she actually had access to a mirror, running water, and perhaps even an actual bed to sleep in.

“Are you the Sassgaran Mechanic?” She asked him in a drawling, uninterested voice.

“I... Beg your pardon, ma'am?” He got the impression she was in a high position, and the startled glances a few others Sakaarians threw her way when she stopped in front of him seemed to confirm the thought. Was he finally in trouble for having asked too many questions?

“I didn't get it right,” the woman sighed, her head rolling back lazily on her neck. “Did you fall from... Sassgara? No, it's - Sassgardia? I'm looking for... They speak so fast. Are you the mechanic?”

“I'm a blacksmith,” Tony said carefully. “From Asgard. Is someone... Looking for me?”

“Asgard,” the woman repeated, and lit up. “Yes, that's the one! You must follow me.”

“Where to?” Tony asked, but she was already turning back, gesturing for him to come along.

He looked around, but found only raised eyebrows and curious faces, giving no indication as to whether he was headed toward doom if he followed. Great. Well, he could only try and see, right?

The woman led him across hallways and through doors that Tony had always known to be locked with burning lasers. She showed no emotion and didn't speak the rest of the way, until she made an arm gesture to indicate he should go ahead, saying simply that 'they' were waiting. Trying not to let himself be neither hopeful nor paranoid, Tony obeyed and found himself walking into a grand, spacious room - or perhaps it just looked spacious because he had spent the last few days in cramped hallways, trying to avoid the social dynamics of this place. There were large couches, and though the white and red walls held the same asymmetrical, ugly aesthetic of other rooms he had been in, this one was made less oppressive by floor-to-ceiling windows on two of its sides.

Two dozen people were inside, sitting, chatting, laughing. There was music, a strange thing full of percussion and high pitched syllables being repeated several times each. Though many rooms in the Tower were more or less inhabited, with an ever changing pattern of territories and hierarchy, this gathering felt different: more agitated and more relaxed both. The Sakaarians here were drinking colorful drinks, laughing a little too loud: they seemed like they were lazing around, but their choice of posture suggested they were very attentive to looking their best. Though the fashion on this planet was a mystery Tony had yet to solve, he could see that everyone here had impeccable face paint and clothes more extravagant than anyone else. This was a party - the fanciest thing Tony had seen in Sakaar yet. Which meant...

A white figure appeared in front of him. The faceless individual seemed joyful, though it was hard to be sure. They also held a glass, but Tony had no idea if they were able to drink, or if it was being offered to him.

“Uh - hi,” he said carefully. “Were you the one who asked after me? I don't think I gave you my name the last time we- oh, you want me to follow? Right. What do you want me to...”

He fell silent, coming to a halt. The faceless guide turned to look - maybe - at him, but Tony was no longer looking at him. Sitting on one of the couches, wearing blue armor and a yellow cape, Loki of Asgard was entertaining half a dozen Sakaarians with a tale that was making them cry with laughter, and looked perfectly at ease.

He didn't realize he had spoken the prince's name out loud until Loki's gaze fell on him. There was no possible mistake about who those eyes belonged to, but if it weren't for them, Tony might have thought he had seen wrong. Loki looked like another man completely, and the odd contrast of a bright color on him was but a fraction of it. Someone - an expert hand - had painted his eyelids and temples with a silver shade of blue. The make-up traced a sharp line over his cheekbone, then moved to his forehead with delicate curved points, like an alien crown. Even his dark hair was adorned with a striking line of paint.

Loki smiled. It seemed a lighter thing, perhaps softened by the strange grace the make-up gave his face, than what was usual of him. He excused himself from the Sakaarians he was speaking to and, as he joined Tony, his footsteps had the relaxed confidence of royalty, perhaps more so than ever. Maybe it was an act of some sort, he thought; but it didn't change the striking difference between this Loki and the one Tony knew. He had never seen his friend seem so perfectly in control of everything as he did right now, a colorful drink in hand and half of his face blue.

“What in the Nine Realms is on your face?” He asked anyway, sheer relief tearing a laughter from him at finally seeing his familiar face. “What are you _doing_?”

“Why, Anthony, it's fashion. Have you never heard of it?” Loki had the nerve of grinning right back. “Seeing you dressed like a scavenger, I'm afraid to know the answer to that. I'll be mocked relentlessly for taking in a man with such poor taste.”

“Excuse me? I didn't exactly find a magical wardrobe with clothes that fit me when I got here. I don't even know where my armor is,” he said, a brief surge of anxiety rising at the reminder, before he shook his head. “What happened? I've looked for you. How long have you been here?”

“Weeks. Since the Bifröst,” Loki answered, mirroring his frown. “I assume I arrived the same as you did. I was forced out of the bridge while it was in motion, and I was pulled in Sakaar's atmosphere. But I was alone when I landed.”

“Loki, it's been - five days. At most. I can't see stars from this stupid planet, but I swear, I've kept count.”

“What?”

The prince frowned, then suddenly changed expressions to give a smile and a friendly squeeze on the shoulder of a Sakaarian walking into the room. The newcomer glanced at Tony, indeed pausing at his sort-of-robes before moving on.

“I have been here for at least twenty days,” Loki murmured once he was gone. “Could the fall have taken so much longer for you?”

“I never studied space travel,” Tony said with now familiar regret. “If it was that different for us - Thor never made it here, did he? He might still be falling. That is, _if_ he even fell on the same path as we did. Loki, I'm- Norns, I've been so stupid. I was scared of what was going to happen, and I'd just wanted... I never even knew falling from the Bifröst was possible. I should have just gone and told your father like you wanted me to in the first place!”

“Sshh!” Loki gestured for him to lower his voice, the lines of his frown twisting the painted arcs as his eyes scanned the room quickly. “Look - none of that matters now, alright? This place - we're far from Asgard. I can't even say how far. Thor, his father - they don't matter here, they never heard of them, or Asgard, or Yggdrasil, or even the Quadrant. How this place connects to the Nine Realms, I have no idea. I doubt there is even a way back. But it's fine,” he carried on, raising his hands in a placating gesture before Tony could ask him to _please_ stop with the bad news. “Tony, I've found you! Selene - the one without a face - told me you were around, and I found you. I've met the master of this place. I've gained his favor.”

“You _what_? You mean - that Grandmaster guy? You met him? How did you even reach this place? I've spent all this time trying to find anyone in charge to negotiate, and you just - you've been here all this time, with - with a drink and make-up on your face?”

“Details are not important,” Loki cut him off. “Look, he'll be here soon. I don't know what you heard about him, but you need to let me do the talking. If I play my cards right, I'm confident I can extend his friendship for me to you and keep the two of us comfortable, but he's hard to predict.”

“Right, right. Got it, I'm mute.”

“Not quite. He can't stand people who bore him. Once he's accepted you, I'll give you a hint, and you should act like you drank all impulse control away. Maybe comment on the pretty girls around. I'll help you navigate that. They have some odd tastes here.”

“No kidding,” Tony said, wondering if he would be able to pretend convincingly that he wasn't freaked out by ninety percent of Sakaarian civilians. It was still a relief to know Loki had his back, despite everything. They would be safe for now, to gather more intel and prepare their escape. “But do you have something already? Just the start of a plan? We-”

“Quiet,” Loki whispered suddenly, before smiling brightly at someone behind him. “Grandmaster. I was beginning to wonder if I attended for nothing. Keeping us waiting?”

“You stay back, Lakey,” a dangerous growl answered.

Tony turned and found himself face to face with the angry, armored woman who had threatened to throw him out of the tower. She squinted angrily at Loki, and Tony wondered for a second if perhaps the prince had overestimated his success with the Grandmaster alright, before he noticed the grey-haired man Loki was in fact addressing rolling his eyes.

“Oh, by the _stars_ \- don't tell him to stay back, now, he's shy enough as is - _did_ _I_ make you wait, starlight?” The newcomer gasped out loud and raised a hand to Loki's cheek. “My, does this color suit you! I was just telling Topaz, wasn't I? I was telling her that you are just the, and it starts with a B?”

“Garbage,” the woman, Topaz, suggested.

“Yes! No!” The Grandmaster gave her a disapproving frown after a small delay. She smiled an unpleasant smile. “The best! I say he's the best. Look at that. I was right about blue on you. Damn, I'm good.”

“Well, it is my face we speak of,” Loki replied easily, allowing the Grandmaster to tilt his chin to admire the paintwork. “I'd say you have good taste, but the rest is all me.”

“Ah, but of course it is! And what have we here? What's that? Did I invite that?”

Tony straightened up the best he could to meet the Grandmaster's curious gaze. He could suddenly understand why the faceless person - Selene? - and the insect had both indicated a line on their face when asked where Loki was. The Grandmaster was an old man with a happy, almost innocent looking grin, and his wild grey hair reinforced the impression of a somewhat lost, but overall inoffensive person. He too wore blue paint, though in far smaller amounts: it underlined his eyes and, yes, traced a single trail from his lower lip to his chin. His clothes were certainly the most impressive things about him: all glittering gold, crimson red, and baby blue in an odd combination of long and short pieces and confusing layers like a mad seamstress's monstrous creation. He smiled at Tony curiously, like he was discovering a new lifeform with no idea if it was sentient. What part of him put Tony on edge, he simply couldn't tell, yet he felt horribly uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

“Ah, I took the liberty of inviting him, Grandmaster,” Loki said lightly. He gestured toward a couch, and the Grandmaster actually followed like Loki was in fact welcoming him in his own house; Tony followed at a careful distance and watched as Sakaarians bowed deeply or moved out of the pair's way, without apparently being noticed. “He's from my homeworld. The coincidence pleased me.”

“Oh, he's from Assard? Do you want me to execute him, then?”

“Grandmaster, you're too kind,” Loki laughed, loud enough to cover Tony's startled 'wha-?!'. Or at least to keep it from the Grandmaster's ears; Topaz glared at Tony in an angry way that seemed to imply she recognised him very well. “No, not this one. He used to be a servant of mine. In fact, he made it here trying to find me.”

Tony struggled not to let the insult show on his face; he would have all the time to tell Loki what he thought of his little strategy when they were out of here, no doubt, although he supposed this was a fair enough price for Loki to extend his protection to him. Had he chosen to imply that he hated everyone in Asgard to gain Sakaar's favors? The Grandmaster nodded, but though Loki was indicating Tony with his chin, he didn't take his eyes off the prince's face. It was starting to feel inappropriate.

“Right then, we'll find some work for him to do around. Get him a platter or something. Unless he's a fighter?”

“No, not at all. He'd cut himself with a kitchen knife,” Loki said. “In fact, it's true fondness that makes me keep him, Grandmaster. He's very nearly useless. I'll keep him personally, if you'd allow it.”

Tony couldn't see his face, but could imagine he was smirking smugly. Was he being made to pay in subtle ways for his speaking out of place? Fair once more, but no less a jerk move.

“You? Fondness? You're hiding something! What's he got that makes you wanna keep him to yourself, uh? I'm just kidding - everything you want, starlight. Ah-ah, but you know my price,” the Grandmaster singsang when Loki went to thank him. “Come on, you stopped at the best part yesterday. What _did_ happen then with the goat?”

“Why, you _must_ have had some idea of how it goes, don't you?”

“Don't toy with me! Every time you want to leave me in suspense now, I can just chop off your servant's fingers!”

Loki laughed like the Grandmaster had just told a most hilarious joke, and the tyrant grinned right back, clearly delighted. Topaz, Tony noticed, was back to smiling, not that she seemed to think it was a joke. 

Despite the relief of finding Loki, the evening that followed was a very long, very unpleasant one.

They remained at the party until what he supposed were the early morning hours, with Loki spending the better of his time delighting their host with stories - most of them familiar, although not quite retold as Tony remembered them, and they usually were not of the sort that he would have chosen to entertain at a party. He could only assume Loki was adapting to his public, but it did not make it any less disturbing when the Grandmaster laughed at the tale of the ring that made all who saw it madly obsessed and ready to kill their own family to possess it, or at an unpleasant story of how an old travelling man had tricked a giant's slaves into killing one another to clear his way to the giant's castle. Tony had heard of how Odin had done this early into the Jötun war, but the usual story-telling made the slaves responsible for their fate through their own greed, while Loki made it evident the traveller had caused the entire massacre.

It was a relief when Loki finally said he wanted to retire and get some rest. It was becoming increasingly evident he was playing with the Grandmaster by being far less deferent than was expected of him: the toying attitude made Topaz growl and the Grandmaster all but coo. One didn't get to leave the party before the man in charge said so, but Loki did anyway, patting the Grandmaster's cheek with playful fondness on his way out. Envious looks followed him outside of the room, Tony noticed, but Loki didn't seem to care for them, only excusing himself to a servant who stood in his way before leading Tony through another maze of hallways and strange doors. There were less Sakaarians here, but Tony supposed the ones on this floor were the most influential - and therefore the most dangerous. He tried to memorize the way, and only allowed himself to relax minutely when they arrived at their destination: a spacious bedroom complete with a mini-bar, gigantic bathtub, and what looked like the skull of a small dragon serving as the table to a sitting area.

“There,” the prince said, spreading his arms as he turned to grin at him. “I believe this is the best suite in this place. Not bad, hm?”

“Once you make the choice to be colorblind, I suppose,” Tony said, though he did feel more eager to lie in the bed, with its actual pillows and blankets, than he had ever imagined he could. He walked up to the gigantic window that lit the minibar's many bottles with orange hues and squinted at the sky. It was a far better view than he had had since he was here. “You really made him love you, uh?”

“I made myself interesting to him,” Loki said. He might have been trying to sound humble, but his satisfaction was obvious. “Most in his court hope to gain his favor by being either very submissive or very arrogant. But he's way beyond noticing people. All he cares about is being entertained.”

“He does seem pretty fond of you, though,” Tony pointed out. Turning, he found Loki watching him with expectation. He hesitated, gesturing to the prince's face. “Is that uncomfortable?” He questioned, letting it up to Loki's choice whether he meant the paint, or the Grandmaster's affection.

“It's an adaptation,” the prince shrugged. “This is not the most hostile planet I could have found. The Grandmaster was easy enough to figure out, even though he is-”

“Completely insane?”

“Yes, that. Doesn't he remind you of someone, though?”

“What do you mean?” Tony frowned, moving away from the window. He ran a finger over the bottles: they were all full, but he could not guess if they were replaced or if Loki had not drunk anything during his stay. He knew he could have gone for something very strong. The temptation to chase away the last few days, from this disastrous fall to Loki's awful stories, even for a few hours, was pretty enticing. 

“That paint he wears might be influencing me,” Loki carried on, gesturing for Tony to come sit with him. He sort of wanted to ask if this could wait until the next day, but restrained himself. “I'm not sure of what I'm saying. But - can't you see any similarities with Taneleer Tivan?”

“Taneleer...?” Tony tried to jog his tired braincells awake, then his eyes widened. “The Collector from Knowhere?”

“The Grandmaster mentioned many times he's extremely old. Considering how unstable he is, I'm willing to believe it's true. He suggested he was as old as Sakaar itself. If it's true...”

“An Elder?” Tony squinted, trying to remember what he knew about these beings. Most thought the Elders were simply legends, and were content with that, as no representative of the species had ever inhabited Yggdrasil, as far as they knew. But Tony did remember the unpleasant being that had burrowed itself deep in the ruins of Knowhere, in the Quadrant. The Collector was old and insane - he could see the resemblance with the Grandmaster already. But moreso, he, too, had made himself the ruler of a nightmarish little realm of his own.

Tony had only met him once - and it had been enough for his taste. He had accompanied Loki, Sif, and the King himself, to see the Tesseract delivered to the Collector's hands. There, Odin had said grimly, it would be safe, although he had made it clear leaving the Tesseract to the man was business, and not friendship. Tony had been fascinated in the most horrible way by the sight around him of hundreds of cages, small boxes suspended in an endless succession of captive creatures, many of them humanoids, locked out of existence. The sickening place had disturbed him, but even as Loki handed the small blue cube to Tivan, Tony remembered how Odin had sharply cut off his flattering words:

“I'm counting on you to lock away the cube, Collector, and nothing else. Speak not to me of loyalty like you ever knew the meaning of that word. You would sell your very own brother if it would add another trinket to your collection.”

When they had gone away, Loki had remarked for Tony's ears only that Odin, too, was certainly fond of his collection of magical items and shiny artifacts. The joke had helped to distract him from the memories of dozens of faces looking down at him from behind glass panels in desperate imprisonment, but Tony had not thought to wonder if Odin had known anything about the Collector actually having a brother.

“Could it be?” He asked. “Odin would know he exists, then, wouldn't he? He could find us.”

“Sakaar is outside of place and time,” Loki said, cutting off his enthusiasm. “I doubt it can be _found_. My point is not that my father - or anyone in Asgard - knows of the Grandmaster. My point is that, if I'm right, then he is not immortal, as he pretends. His longevity is incredible, yes, but he can die.”

“Wait - you're speaking of _killing him_?” He asked, his last words turning a whisper before he could think of it. 

“He'll get bored of me eventually.” Loki's tone was simple factualness. “I can't entertain him for eternity, nor do I want to.”

“Of course not, but that's why we need to escape. If we murder the Grandmaster, we won't leave the planet alive!”

“Tony, we won't, no matter what we do.” The prince's shrug made something cold crawl up Tony's spine. “I told you. Sakaar cannot be found, and I'm growing more and more certain that it can't be left.”

“That's nonsense. No, it is! This isn't the afterlife, this isn't another dimension - it's a place, and we're both in it, which proves it exists in the same reality as Asgard and the Bifröst. Now, I get it, we might be outside of Heimdall's sight, and we might be very far from Yggdrasil, but there's an exit. We just have to find it. And if it can be found, then we will find it!”

“It's a waste of time,” Loki said, with a sigh like he was trying to explain something simple to an especially stubborn individual. “People land on Sakaar according to a logic I can't even understand yet. The planet's atmosphere destroys anything that goes through it: the only way in are the portals, and nothing goes out through them.”

“Why? Is it a field? Some kind of protective layer?” Tony glanced outside despite himself. “Is it the planet itself or is it the Grandmaster?”

“I think it's the planet. The Grandmaster explained to me that he was the first being who fell on Sakaar. My best guess is that this was meant as some sort of jail for him. He didn't find a way out in all this time, having access to all those resources.”

“What happens when a ship tries to go through, then?”

“I've never seen it happen,” Loki admitted, and then rolled his eyes when Tony grinned. “Oh, please. I know something destroys them. The exact details are not that important-”

“Loki, come on. You think because _that_ guy couldn't figure it out, we can't? Did you get a good look at him?”

“You know nothing about spaceships. And neither do I! We need to plan for short-term survival. When we're in charge of the planet, then, yes, maybe, and I do say maybe we can safely-”

“Wait, wait, back it up. In charge? You're thinking-”

“Befriend the king, kill the king, become the king.” Loki made it sound like it was a common saying. “I told you. Time is going to run out fast. I'm hopeful I can keep the Grandmaster entertained for maybe a few months, but I won't bet my life on it. And, really - do you want to leave him in charge? Do you want to go away and let any barbarian declare himself ruler of Sakaar? No - this is perfect. Come on, I know you can see it. We're stuck here - we might as well make it better, for us and for the rest of this awful place.”

“You. As the King of Sakaar.” He waited to see if Loki would laugh, but the prince stared at him with a smile, clearly waiting for his approval. “You're actually being serious. Norns.”

“You'll be at my side,” Loki insisted. “And when I'm in charge, then you can take a look at the portals, without having to worry that the Grandmaster will kill you just for poking around. Can't you see? This is the perfect plan.”

“I-I get your point, I think. Though - honestly, only you can crash on a planet and then plan to take over after one month.” Loki grinned, and Tony wondered if he had perhaps influenced him the bad way, that he thought this was a compliment. “But - if you're actually asking for my opinion, as your friend? I think you're focusing on the wrong thing.”

“What do you mean?” Loki's smile fell a little, but he was listening. Good. After the disastrous Bifröst incident, Tony had feared the prince would not actually want to hear his thoughts on anything.

“I mean that we fell at the same time, and landed here with weeks between us. Why is that? Yeah, I don't know either. But it means that however time works around Sakaar, the connection with Yggdrasil is not always the same. If we wait too long, then when we find our way back home, who's to say that a year to us won't have been a thousand on Asgard? Or more? What if the portals are not always the same, and we're unable to go back home for a century? And that's if we don't accidentally go back to Asgard as it was long ago. The longer we wait to go away, the more we risk not being able to go at all.”

“Yes, but all those things will take time to research,” Loki countered. “We can't look into all of them properly with a deadline. This place has no library, hardly any records to speak of - you need to start from scratch. Even if I help you, and I will the best I can, we can't do this in a hurry.”

“Your plan might very well get us killed,” Tony pointed out. “You've made the Grandmaster like you. It really doesn't sound like your best idea to stab him in the back the instant you get a chance.”

“It's not like I'm going to actually stab him in front of his whole court! I'm still - working on the details,” Loki admitted when Tony raised an eyebrow interrogatively. He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair, somehow not disturbing the blue paint there. “Tony, please. Have you ever known me to be reckless? Don't you trust that I can do this?”

Tony hesitated, the way Loki looked at him, wary and encouraging both, making it very hard to know what to say. The truth was, he didn't know what the real answer was. Yes, Loki had always been the voice of reason to Thor and the Warriors Five. He had played with diplomacy and political arrangements ever since he had been of age. He planned and convinced and charmed and scared people into taking exactly the spot he needed them to hold in his complicated web. Tony had seen it many times, had seen the failures, the miscalculations, but had seen also Loki learning from them. He had no trouble believing that Loki, with some efforts and time, could take over Sakaar.

The issue wasn't even one of _trust_. Loki looked at him with a face that was trying to be confident, but Tony knew him enough to recognise his nervousness, even hidden as it was behind his smile. And Tony felt like telling him that he was worrying uselessly, that of course he trusted him. Loki had been more than trustworthy before Tony had even been aware of it. He was cold, he was harsh, he was proud, but nobody could claim that Loki wasn't loyal to his friends. Had he not presented Tony with a dream job, even if it meant sending him away? Wasn't he always revealing he _did_ have food for him, even when mocking his lack of foresight? The people of Asgard who only knew Loki through stories and rumors called him a liar and a mischief maker, and he was both those things - but Tony knew him also to be fiercely caring and protective of the people he cared about.

Until five days ago.

Tony had never seen Loki acting recklessly, up until that moment when they had ridden out of the city in complete secret, heading to their doom. All because Thor had insulted him. Thor had treated his brother as an inferior one time too many. The King had treated his sons unfairly one time too many. And for that, Loki had been prepared to send Asgard and her people into chaos.

It wasn't even that Tony disagreed with the heart of Loki's decision. If both the King and his heir were blind, then making them see by any means necessary was - logical. Hel, even on a personal level, Tony was more than willing to take Loki's side over Thor's cruel arrogance and Odin's injustices. If his friend had come to him on that day, maybe Tony would have come up with the same mad plan, minus the liability of leaving no messenger behind to ensure they were stopped.

But that was it, wasn't it? Loki had not come to him. He had not gone to the Queen. He had not confronted his brother. And maybe it would have been useless, and maybe Loki had acted as he had because they, Tony included, had failed to hear him too many times. Yet no matter the reasons, Loki  _had_ acted alone, on a heart full of fire and an ice cold resolution. Reckless didn't even cover it. If they had reached their goal, they would have ignited a brasier of absolute chaos. And the spark of it?

Loki. Loki, furious and hurt and dangerous, yet swearing that he was doing the right thing. Perhaps even believing it himself.

“You know I trust you,” he made himself say at last, before his silence could suggest things he didn't think, and Loki, protective and reckless and loyal and hurt, could feel a betrayal that wasn't there. “I know if someone can do something so crazy, then, yes, it's you. You - obviously you're far more prepared to survive this place than I am. I'm simply - scared, that if we don't prioritize... I don't want to be stuck here forever,” he grimaced, shaking his head.

“We won't,” Loki answered immediately, his shoulders falling with relief. “I'm just asking you to be careful while I see to- to our safety here. That's all. If you're willing to let me, then I swear, my friend, I will do this. And when Sakaar is mine,” he added, “I will furnish you with the best workshop you can get. Every instrument and tool you need to figure out this dreadful planet, and I know you will find a way.”

His smile returned as he made his promise, a smile so sincere and so hopeful Tony couldn't have kept from returning it if he had tried. He couldn't shut the voice at the back of his mind, the thought that it couldn't be so easy, that all this was wrong and they needed to work together toward the only logical solution, that Loki was still his friend, yes, always - but that something had shifted, something inside his friend that had perhaps always been there, and that he couldn't see fully yet to know if it had left the Loki he knew intact.

Yet what was he to do? He was on Loki's side. Nothing had changed that. He doubted anything could change it. Maybe it had taken the prince shapeshifting into his female self for the new perspective to come to Tony's mind, but somewhere along the way, it had crystallized into this simple certainty: for better or for worse, he had never felt so strongly for anyone as he did for the mad second prince, so strange and unique and passionate, so far from resembling anyone else.

“Alright,” he said, taking a deep breath. “If we're discussing murder plans right now, I'm gonna need a drink. And is there any decent food here?”

* * *

Tony doubted any amount of companionship or liquor could ever make him like Sakaar. Still, he had to admit it made it a little less bad. 

The greatest improvement to his condition was definitely the private room. Loki insisted, and it was quite true, that his bed was properly gigantic, and there was no reason for Tony to sleep on the couch when they could easily fit on either side of the mattress. It was a wonder, what material comfort did to the mind. After a single night of sleeping actually lying down, Tony felt significatively more optimistic and ready to take on the Grandmaster and his terrible realm.

He quickly discovered that Loki had, indeed, kept himself busy while they were apart. The prince evidently knew nearly everyone on the Tower's highest floors by name, be they favorites of the Grandmaster, soldiers, servants, or any of the other uncertain social groups that orbited around the parties. He told Tony which ones to steer clear of, and which ones he suspected were potential allies. It was quite the achievement, but the explanation made itself obvious rapidly.

The Grandmaster, it turned out, truly did live for entertainment. Not a day went by without Loki receiving an invitation to a party. When he wondered if the break between each celebration simply represented the Grandmaster's hours of sleep, Loki admitted he wasn't quite sure if the dictator slept at all. As far as he had gathered, the time that the Grandmaster didn't spend drinking, laughing and otherwise meeting with his favorites was spent tending to what few things the man was willing to maintain in his realm: executing prisoners (usually in public), taking lovers (that too) and polishing his collection of champions.

“Fine, I'm on team Let's kill that Lunatic,” Tony grimaced when the prince explained. “What's that last thing? Champions?”

If the Collector and the Grandmaster were indeed related, then their interests were only somewhat different. While Tivan kept living beings in cages for the sheer satisfaction of owning them, the Grandmaster, it turned out, had a true passion for making living beings fight one another. Such was the purpose of the arena Tony had heard about, and such was the Grandmaster's main occupation: he welcomed both scavengers from outside the Tower and determined inhabitants of it to present him with any fighter they deemed likely to present a good fight. It was a risky, but lucrative job: if the tyrant was in a bad mood, he was just as likely to kill both scrapper and fighter. On the other hand, those who introduced his new favorite champions were rewarded and pulled from the desperate mass of hungry hunters outside with great privilege.

Other than making him even more despicable than he already was, this occupation provided the Grandmaster with his greatest pride: an ever-changing stable of fighters, waiting only for his order to tear each other to pieces in a grand spectacle of death.

“Gladiatorial combat,” Loki summarized. “It's not unheard of, even in Yggdrasil, but I never heard of anything like this. He speaks of his fighters like they're racehorses, but they're warriors with incredible abilities. I'm not sure how he subdues them, but I would not be surprised if he could force even the great Surtur into his sick games.”

“And what happens when they win?” Tony asked, figuring he might as well know, now that he felt sick already.

“They live to fight again, as I understand it. But I would not be surprised to find that the Grandmaster's favorites have better survival odds than the others.”

“Did you... See the fighting?” It was unlikely he wouldn't have, considering their host's daily demands for Loki to keep him company, whether he simply wanted to chat, was deciding on new clothes, made music mixes of debatable quality, or specified he wanted _only_ Loki and not Tony, for uncertain activities. Still, some part of him remembered Loki's aversion to blood and general distaste for combat in all its forms, and found itself almost longing for the confirmation that this much hadn't changed. 

“Yes. It's an unpleasant affair,” Loki commented neutrally. “He has a contest more or less once a week, depending on - arrivals, I suppose we might call them. I expect you'll be with me for the next one.”

Indeed, Tony stayed with Loki almost constantly. It was as much safety as it was a comfort, if he was to be honest. Through the confusing stream of faces and creatures of Sakaar, ever moving without any pause long enough to become an ally, or even just a person, it was a relief to spend time with his friend, even if all they did was speak of assassination or discuss who their attackers on Asgard could have been. Tony had never spent so much time with Loki, yet he was surprised not to grow impatient with him as he sometimes did the other Warriors or even his apprentices when fatigue and proximity grew to be too much. It seemed Loki's quiet matched him as well as his insomnias did, long stretches of silence leaving them both to their reflections only to be interrupted after hours by both at the same time. Despite the sinister atmosphere of Sakaar, Tony found it ever easier to forget his previous worries and pass off Loki's actions as an exception rather than a permanent change in him.

As for the Grandmaster's constant requests of Loki, it turned out that Loki was experimenting to see what happened if he let the dictator wait on him. Playing hard to get with such a maniac seemed a dangerous game, but Loki hoped that, by staying in his room for one full day every now and then, without answering to his invitations, he would keep the Grandmaster's interest longer.

Either it was an efficient plan, or the Grandmaster was even more creepily obsessed than Tony had first suspected. Though he was slowly starting to recognise the familiar faces of a few party-goers (and the ever dangerous-looking Topaz), it was no hardship to understand that the dictator dropped whatever he was doing everytime Loki walked into the room.

Tony followed every time he was not expressly forbidden to do so. He told himself he was looking for any hint about leaving Sakaar that might be carelessly dropped in a conversation, but it didn't take long to conclude that all the Sakaarians would let out during the parties were half-digested amounts of alcohol. He held to those disgusting scenes to keep himself from the tempting bottles and remained discreet, mingling with servants to keep an eye on Loki until they took their leave.

It wasn't like he would manage much even if he stayed behind, he pointed out. Though Loki, folded in half with laughter in such an evident display of hysterical amusement that he had not been able to be mad at him, had helped him select new clothes, it was clear that everyone around had been informed of his servant status. Passing any door in the upper floors of the Tower without the prince's company exposed him to questions, and even to being ordered away by the few people in Sakaar who seemed similar to their Aesir equivalent: angry, suspicious guards doubting Tony had any reason to be around his more noble friend. He lacked any true information to work on a decent plan, and remaining alone in the bedroom made him agitated and brought him to the bottles.

Plus, if he were honest, leaving Loki alone with the maniac was a great source of anxiety. Not only was there the distant danger of losing the maniac's attention; the current danger of having it was unpleasant on its own. He didn't like the way the Grandmaster's hands somehow always ended up in Loki's hair, on his cheeks, his chin, or even resting on his thigh when they sat next to one another.

Other than their initial disagreement about the strategy to adopt, this was the only dispute that made it into their room - discussed many times, half spoken, and finally forced in the open.

“I'm just saying that he wants you to talk. I don't see why you take so much care in the way you look.”

“We're not in Asgard, Anthony. I cannot look the way I do at home.”

He paced around the room, watching from the corner of the eye as Loki used a paintbrush to trace patterns over his face. It was true that most people in the Grandmaster's court wore some sort of make-up. Tony could tell even he was being judged for not showing up to the parties with at least some red powder or gold lipstick. But then, most people were not being stared at by the host like he was looking into buying them.

“Well, why not? You want to keep him on his toes. Surprise him.”

“Why does it bother you so?” Loki gave in, glaring through the mirror. “He has me discussing the gruesome deaths of innocent people with him every day that I spend here, but you can't stand the paint?”

“You're a prince. He's making you look like a jester.”

“He has me acting as one, too, in case you didn't notice.”

“I'm not trying to insult you, Loki,” he grimaced, growing familiar to the biting way Loki sometimes twisted his words, like he was looking for a fight. “It's simply... Does it not bother _you_?”

He expected Loki to roll his eyes, maybe to tell him in that same acid tone that of course it did, but complaining didn't achieve anything, did it?, or something of that sort. It came as a bit of a surprise when the prince remained silent for a while, looking at his reflexion in the mirror as he traced a single grey line on his chin.

“Not as much as the rest,” he said finally. “It's not like I'm made to wear chains. Or something ridiculous, like you did when I found you.”

“Right,” Tony said, letting the insult go for this one time, but hesitating to drop the subject again. “It's just so different from - home.”

“It is. And that's a nice way of saying the court would die laughing if they saw me.”

“Not all of them. Tyr would choke on his own horror before laughing.”

“Ah, yes. A son of Odin, painting his face like an elvish prostitute. The poor weaponmaster would most certainly be vanquished by such monstrosity.”

“I don't recall elvish women wearing paint,” Tony dared to answer, after a brief pause to let the sudden burn in his chest fade away. He had certainly not wanted to ask anything about _that,_ or rather he had not yet found a way to ask without Loki becoming even more defensive. He was startled to find Loki looking at him in the mirror, with one of those too-innocent looks he sometimes had on his face when he was watching a prank unfold. “What? What is it?”

“The women don't do it,” Loki said.

“You said...” He closed his mouth. The burn was back with a vengeance, but it had moved from his constricted chest down to his belly. Loki was still watching him with suspicious lightness of heart. “They have... they do that?”

“Well, they don't brag to the people of Asgard about them. But they're very easy to find, once you know where to look.”

“Ah.” He wanted to answer something clever and stop Loki from enjoying this so very much. He had not been prepared for this. On the other hand, _why_ was Loki enjoying it? Why was he telling Tony? No, it was just the way he was. Maybe he was actually making this up to make him uncomfortable. But was he? “And they wear face paint,” he finished, lamely.

“About half of them, yes.” Loki finished his line, pressed his lips together to ensure the paint was dry, and turned to face him. He looked even more pleased with himself. “But you've seen that the Grandmaster himself wears it. This is hardly a sign of submission, here. No matter how I would like to bring Tyr's end myself, this paint is really just paint.”

“Right,” Tony said, registering those information for safekeeping. Wait -no. No! There was no scenario in which he would need to know anything about male, submissive elvish prostitutes. Right? No. Probably no. Maybe. Were there? “Well, that's good. I'm just as fond of the general as you are, but, uh, the Grandmaster is already - he certainly allows himself too much familiarity. I'm glad-”

“Tony,” Loki interrupted. He still seemed very amused, but his smile softened a little as he repeated his earlier words, with far less impatience: “This is not Asgard. Even if I did, then you shouldn't be so horrified. This place is bad enough as is. There's really no need to get yourself worked up about the things that don't cause any actual damage.”

Tony stared for a few long instants. Loki tilted his head to the side with something like an apologetic shrug, though he didn't lose his little smile. Mocking his shock still, but - not only. Not quite.

“You know, in all those years of friendship, you made sure that I had my share of Loki-typical madness, but- if - 'even if you did'?” He wasn't sure if he wanted to be horrified, angry, or - sad. That last option was probably not appropriate, considering the way Loki just seemed gently teasing, but it was there, and it was taking up a lot of space. “He's completely demented,” he remarked. “You're my friend. It's kind of - my duty, getting worked up.”

“He invited me to half a dozen orgies in my first two weeks here. It was unlikely I would manage to avoid him forever.” Loki sighed at what must have been the pure horror painted on Tony's face. “You know, he _is_ completely demented. But we established a long time ago that I am, as well.”

“I never said that you-”

“Not you,” Loki conceded, “but many. And they're right, to some extent. But this is not Asgard. I'm not a prince here. I'm not... There is nothing to tarnish through me. So long as I am in Sakaar, then I am just Loki. And if you are my friend, then - this one time, let's forget honor and wrongness. It's lucky that I have such unnatural tastes that I am fit for this place outside of nature's rules. You shouldn't worry about it when there are much more important things ahead.”

“Your tastes,” Tony repeated, and he was looking carefully enough to see it, the small crack in the facade, the tension in the quiet. _If you are my friend_ , Loki practically begged. Tony might have not been prepared for this, but he was starting to think his friend had planned for this talk. Always one step ahead, even in this. “Loki, of course I'm going to worry. He's a murderous immortal being who makes people fight to death for his pleasure. That you like men - alright, so I wasn't _sure_ if you did, but I thought that maybe you had experimented - but I don't care about _that_. That's not what honor is about. What freaks me out is that this guy could kill us, and you're playing along with him for both our safety. If he was to hurt you, and you were to let it happen because you had no choice, then that - that would - I couldn't stand the thought that...”

“He didn't. And I wouldn't.” Loki was back to smiling. “He is crazy, yes, and will grow tired of me, but for the time being, he treats me like I'm the most perfect thing in the universe. You're imagining I'm whoring myself out and sickening yourself with guilt. But ever since I've met him, he would have given me anything I wanted for a parcel of my attention. If I didn't know how dangerous he is, or how short his interest - well, then I would think him pitiful, to be so desperate for something like affection. Yet I did fall for an enemy with no regret nor disgust, telling myself simply as I told you - that it was lucky he and I wanted the same thing, and I could manipulate him and enjoy it. And I suppose - to others, it would seem just as miserable as his own way, wouldn't it? But you're being scared for me. That's - it's why I want to tell you. I find that - to you, if to nobody else, I would rather be dishonorable than a cause for worry.”

Tony fell quiet, having no answer to give. It didn't feel like Loki's words, in the shape of a conclusion, needed a response, either. The prince's smile had softened, sitting almost rueful on the pale lips Loki had painted to the enemy's taste, not as an obligation, not this time, but as a weapon amongst the many other subtle ways he had of tangling people in his webs. He wondered how Loki felt about telling him all this: did it make him nervous? Did he feel exposed, in the rare truth of his words, or did he feel completely at peace, that he had spoken honestly in the first place? Telling him, because he didn't want to worry him. Caring, still, despite everything.

“For what it's worth, Loki,” he said finally, despite the easy silence that had readily taken over, “I don't think you're dishonorable. Not for the paint, or your tastes, or - even for him.”

“You were expecting heroic sacrifice, not shameless lying with the enemy,” Loki remarked like a gentle reminder. “At the very least, it's not honorable.”

“Horseshit,” Tony said. Loki gave a startled, offended gaze, and Tony grinned at the genuine reaction. “So what if he's a decent lover? You're still dealing with all his talking. That's still heroic sacrifice. If he just wanted you for your body, at least you wouldn't have to listen to him all day long.”

“You seem far happier now than five minutes ago, when you feared I was dolling myself up for him. I know I have odd priorities, but coming from you?”

“How odd is it that I'd rather have you fuck the enemy willingly than being forced to it? Hey, you started talking about orgies, Highness, don't act offended because I use the shorter words.”

“Evidently, it would be hypocritical of me,” Loki conceded, barely containing his grin. “I am glad that you are at peace, then. Even if it makes your vocabulary absolutely shameful.”

“I said I preferred it, not that I liked it. He's still insane.” And Loki had known his 'tastes' before meeting with him. Had he actually visited elvish brothels while they teased him about never coming to the Asgardian ones? Had there been others? Loki had given him answers, reassuring ones, even. He should have been pleased, and he wasn't. 

They were not in Asgard, no. Loki was not a prince, here, bound to the throne in his own way. Yet even in this lawless place, joking, and trusting, and admitting to things that would never have been alright at home, even then - something held him back. Just the two of them. It should have been simple enough to ask. To take the chance to take the risk. To trust he had read correctly between the lines, and Loki's smile and his doubts had meant what he wanted them to. It should have been simple, but it still wasn't.

Because as always where Loki was concerned, there was a complicated web he might catch himself in if he wasn't very careful. And he didn't want anything to disrupt what they had.

“While we're on the topic of confessions...” Loki looked at his mirror once more; not at Tony. Per chance or design, he didn't see the hope that flashed on his face. “If I am to be perfectly honest, the paint does not, in fact, bother me. I don't know why, but I'm actually enjoying this. I almost feel now that something is missing from my face, if I simply leave it blank. What would Thor say, if he found me blue as a Frost Giant?” 

“He'd probably try to smite you,” Tony answered, trying to let humor cover his disappointment. “It's good he's not here. I doubt he would handle this as well as you do.”

“He must never know,” Loki murmured. Possibly he was still joking. Probably he wasn't. Tony didn't feel it was appropriate to answer that bit.

* * *

Loki's prediction turned out to be true. Tony had been with him for less than a week when the announcement came that a new contest of champions would take place on that same day's evening, and the whole Tower erupted into frantic excitement. If the Sakaarians were faking enthusiasm because they had no choice or if they had grown to love the barbarian spectacle, Tony honestly couldn't tell. He didn't like thinking about it and wondering how long he would have survived here alone before going mad too.

The contest was as bad as anything he could have imagined. The Grandmaster, absolutely beaming with excitement, projected an image of himself that covered half of the city to make his announcements, proclaiming his love for the champions he was introducing the crowd to. 

“They're both new,” Loki murmured for Tony's ears. He was lounging on something too horizontal to be called a chair, legs crossed, and enjoying a drink, but his voice showed none of this relaxed pretense. Tony had been made to kneel beside the chair, holding a platter for the sole purpose of Loki putting his glass on it if he grew tired of holding it. It was insulting, irritating, and somehow he suspected Loki wasn't half as bothered as he was by the position, but the start of the nightly 'festivity' was certainly a distraction. “They must show some potential, but they did not pique his interest. He's testing them. This is not the main event.”

The arena was outside of the Tower, but they had reached it without ever setting foot on the ground. They were sitting in the Grandmaster's private lounge, along with a few other guards, servants and party-goers; but around the large circle of sand that formed the battleground, thousands of lower class citizens were cheering excitedly, some waving banners, others selling food. In the distance, above the approximate location of the scrappers's habitations and facing the biggest junkyards, the Grandmaster's holographic figure was replaced by images of the arena. Evidently, the right to see blood was the one universal privilege on this planet.

The fighters that first came in, Tony thought, showed far more than 'some potential'. He doubted he could have beaten either of them, even armed as they were with blunt blades and poorly balanced maces. One had an elongated face with sharp teeth sticking out of his mouth like a boar's defenses; the other wore a mask that seemed to be perpetually frowning, and towered three feet over his opponent. The first one seemed trained; the second was a brute. Their battle was quick and brutal, every hit threatening to end the fight and causing the crowd to roar in excitement, encouraging the two men in the arena.

It was hard to watch with the certainty that any moment would bring the death of one of the nameless fighters. Tony looked from the corner of his eyes to the Grandmaster, who was resting his chin on his folded fingers and admiring the fight with a sickening grin. He made little 'oh's and chuckled in response to the gladiators' actions. It really was true, Tony realized: he didn't care who won at all. His only interest was in watching it happen, all for his mad pleasure.

Loki cried out in celebration. Tony looked back at him without understanding, seeing the prince raise his glass toward the arena. The masked fighter was the only one left standing. He held his opponent above his head, presenting him to the roaring crowd. Not dead yet, Tony realized, seeing him try to kick his way out of the grip. Maybe he would live after all. Maybe the giant had won and his victim would get another chance at fighting. The man in the frowning mask closed his big hands around one leg, the other around the torso. Tony didn't have the time to look away. The noise couldn't have reached them from this distance, not logically, but it resonated to his ears nonetheless, an horrifying wet cracking and snapping sound, even as the brutally detached pieces fell on either side of the fighter, showering him with blood.

Everyone cheered. The Grandmaster laughed, a happy laugh like he had been impressed by an acrobat trick, even though he repeated cheerfully such things as, “Oh, oh, that's not right”, or “He wasn't supposed to do that!”. Loki clapped along, and suggested the masked fighter should be put in the arena with the symbiote, next.

Tony didn't know how he managed not to be sick. The second and third fight went on for what felt like an eternity, and though he saw the contestants, and was aware of Loki giving him pointers as to what was going on, he would later have absolutely no memories of what he had seen past that first battle. Nobody paid attention to him, even Loki pretending to enjoy the spectacle with such conviction Tony almost feared being alone with him and finding he would still go on excitedly about the gladiators' gruesome deaths, like so many unexpected twists in a horse race or sports contest.

He wasn't even quite aware of the contest finally ending. The Grandmaster disappeared, gone to tend to his champions or maybe smell the blood and sweat on their skin while it was still fresh, who knew? Even the bedroom was no comfort at all. His eyes locked onto the dragon skull with its long maws, not unlike that of the contestant that had been ripped in half, and he felt he needed a bath to scrub himself clean of whatever had been in the air of the arena.

“You're shaking.”

So he was, but he hadn't quite been aware of it until Loki pointed it out. He let himself be seated on the edge of the big bed, and when Loki brought him a clear glass of water, he made himself drink it. It rested heavy on his stomach. He handed the glass back and dared to meet Loki's eyes. They were attentive, sharply studying him - but free of that mad bloodlust he had not known he feared to see in them.

“It's alright,” the prince said gently. “It's over.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. But it wasn't. It wasn't a theater play. The dead men - three dead men - didn't get to say that the fight was over, like an unpleasant moment to go through. They weren't getting back up. And their killers - their killers, willing or not, were still there, with blood under their nails, recovering from the battle and preparing for the next one. Somewhere in this Tower, or in the arena, they sat there, having mercilessly murdered other beings for the sick pleasure of the crowd, knowing they would have to do it again or be killed themselves-

He hadn't seen Loki bringing the basin near the bed, but somehow the prince shoved it under his nose right in time. He held it there for him when Tony's icy hands failed to grab it, and kept it in place until he stopped retching.

“Sorry,” he croaked.

“It's okay,” Loki said again. He placed a hand on Tony's forehead. His cool fingers were a small relief.

They remained silent for some time. Tony focused on anything that was not a memory of the arena: the ugly carpet, the down-pointing arrow on Loki's chest, the way the light reflected on the windows, the rough fabric of his own pants. Slowly, the constriction of his chest released its grip. He was vaguely aware that what had started in Midgard had reached its peak now: he was a coward, it turned out, soft and weak, unworthy of being a warrior of Asgard. And Loki was seeing all of it. Was finding out that Tony had never had his place with the Warriors Five or the two princes. 

Well, fuck it. He didn't want to be strong or worthy. He couldn't stand pain or death happening in front of him and having to pretend it didn't affect him. It had been easy to cut down enemies in a field and count them off to compare numbers, but now - now he couldn't deny it, the weight that number actually was. It was  _horrible_ . And this cursed place, this absolutely wrong, insane place with its awful master - it was the worst thing he had ever seen.

“We need to leave this planet,” he said. It didn't bring as much relief as he hoped. He wouldn't feel better until Sakaar was actually behind them. Still, Loki nodded encouragingly, and shifted to press the back of his hand to his forehead. Tony hadn't been aware of the sweat on his face until he felt a bead of it rolling down the prince's fingers. The embarrassment was almost worse than the shock itself. “How are you okay?” He couldn't help but ask, and it came out a little more horrified than he meant.

“I'm not enjoying this, I promise you,” Loki grimaced, maybe sensing his words were a reproach. “Tonight was especially brutal. I'm sorry I did not prepare you better.”

“No, that's not - you couldn't have prepared me,” Tony protested, shaking his head. “That's not what I mean. It's not - all of it was awful. Not just the killings. This whole place - it's the way they cheered that made me sick. Like they really enjoyed it. This place is horrible and their life is horrible and they're cheering for murder.” He breathed out, pushing Loki's hand back gently to wipe at his now cold sweat. “Am I really weak for - for not being able to accept this?”

“You're not weak,” Loki replied, with a touching sense of urgency. “You've never been weak. This doesn't make you any less Iron Man than you've always been.”

“How much good did Iron Man ever do, though?” He grimaced. “How many people did I save by killing others, Loki? Did I ever?”

“You can't compare yourself with what we've just seen-”

“No? Why? The only difference is that those fighters didn't get a choice to be in there! Maybe I never break the corpses of my enemies in half, but what else really makes it different, Loki? No, I know - they were enemies of Asgard. They were invaders or criminals. Or they stood with rebels. I know they needed to be stopped, but..."

“I wasn't going to say that,” Loki said, when the silence went on for a few seconds. “You told me before that you didn't think being on the wrong side made them deserving of death. And... We spoke of politics too often for me to pretend that they were, just because my father said so,” he added with a small grimace. “My father kills enemies on the battlefield as well as in prison. As you said, the difference is that he doesn't make a show out of it. That's all. A small comfort to those who die nonetheless.”

“So what... what _were you_ going to say, then? Before I cut you off.”

“Nothing that will make you feel much better, I'm afraid,” Loki answered with a weak smile. “I can't pretend you never did wrong. Hel, I'm hardly in any place to say so, am I?” He looked down. “I've been thinking of what you told me, after Midgard. And I tried to find the right answer to convince myself everything was alright, but... Even I couldn't make it credible,” he chuckled. “We've played heroes for so long, all of us, and now, it's unpleasant to realize that maybe it's not what we were at all. Like those people Director Carter told us about: they were so convinced they fought for what was right. They couldn't see they were the villains, because they were just thinking of protecting their family, maybe their village. And we had to stop them, but it was still wrong. So she did her best to work with spies and sabotage instead of open battles. She wanted to win her war, but she didn't want for strangers to lose their sons, or fathers, or lovers, for something that didn't make sense. But us? Asgard? It never was about avoiding battles for us. It was about winning. And so I never - I didn't come to you to comfort you, because I couldn't find any comforting words. You're too clever to be told a nice story and believe it.”

“Too clever, huh?” Tony stared. He had not imagined Loki had kept thinking about their conversation. His conclusions were indeed not making him feel any better, but, somehow, they didn't make him feel worse, either. “I never imagined you to be the comforting type. That would probably have been pretty awkward,” he commented. The joke was a little flat, but Loki did take it with a smile, even if it melted away when Tony sighed and went on. “What kind of warrior am I, if I'm sick at the thought of killing people, uh?”

“The good kind, as I see it,” Loki replied quietly, eyes trailing on him. “The best kind.”

Silence stretched, gentle yet heavy, between them both. Tony's smile came slowly, but it gently brushed away some of the tension that was still set in every part of him.

“Well, probably not the best suited for this planet, either way,” he remarked, though more easily than before.

“I'm starting to think,” Loki said, “that being - kind, when everything around you is merciless... That it might take more strength than to just become hard and cruel yourself. A lot more. So, you know - if we were to compare warriors, in Asgard or else, well... I think you might be the best I know. Better than Thor or Fandral or the others. Better than me.” He grinned, maybe hiding some embarrassment. “Definitely way better than General Tyr, but we didn't doubt that.”

“Tyr is a jerk,” Tony agreed.

“He sure is.”

“I think I'm feeling alright enough to sleep, now.” He paused, watching Loki's hands where they rested on his thighs, half open, like still waiting for the opportunity of giving some support. For some reason, he was reminded of the panic in Loki's voice, in Midgard, talking about moving him, but not wanting to hurt him. Trying to decide what the right course of action was, medically speaking, with such awful distress. He certainly had seemed prepared for a panicked, throwing up companion. It was kind of refreshing, being reminded that the prince sometimes had no idea what he was doing. “I'm going to get some rest. And tomorrow, soon as we wake up, we get planning. We've hesitated enough: we'll just pick either the poison or the blade, and move on with what we decide.”

“At your service, Iron Man,” Loki smiled, standing from the side of the bed to take away the glass - the basin, Tony found, had disappeared out of sight already.

“Are you not coming to bed too?”

“Just removing all this.” He gestured to the baby blue paint on his face. “I'll be right here. Just lie down, I'll turn off the lights.”

“It's not bad, having a prince tend to me,” Tony replied, pulling back the blankets. “You know, this best warrior might get used to it. You should try carrying a tray. It might suit you, too.”

“Get some sleep,” Loki ordered, and shut off the light.

Tony grinned, holding on to this feeling, and watched the half-invisible silhouette of Loki shift into the darkness for a while before he managed to close his eyes, and face the horrors hiding there. Nevertheless, he slept.

* * *

Despite their best efforts, planning an assassination turned out to be quite a lengthy task. When Tony remarked on it, Loki replied that, if regicide were easy, everybody would do it.

“It's not the killing part that's difficult. It's securing your place on the throne before the ruler is even dead. If you didn't plan for it perfectly, then all you get is a coup and then a lot of chaos.”

“I'm trying to decide if you established that from looking at the history of other realms, or if you took the time to imagine how you would take over the throne of Asgard.”

“Mm. Both,” Loki admitted. “But if it comforts you, I was looking for flaws in our security when I did. I wouldn't want that big golden throne.”

“No? I thought grandeur was your thing. Your color scheme fits Hlidskjaf more than Thor's.”

“Treason,” Loki accused cheerfully. “I suppose you're right. The throne. The spear. Wouldn't I look good in a crown?”

“Asgard doesn't have a crown,” Tony remarked, smiling.

They were sitting at the bar, comparing notes and putting together charts of what they knew. As a safety concern, they had taken care to nickname everything and everyone in Sakaar, and besides were writing in a code Loki had remembered from a distant interest in military communications. If anybody struggled through the complicated sigils and senseless circles, all they would find was that Grimnir saw to the potato fields of Niffleheim, but that he only did it because he was in love with Freyja. It would be hard to pass it off as a draft for one of Loki's tales, but at the very least, it would also be a struggle to understand the true meaning of it: they had found the Tower's constant buffets were being filled by a man in a large hat, overseeing dozens of enslaved laborers and bringing the Grandmaster his due only in exchange for as many pretty individuals as he could go through. The disguise also had the merits of making things more factual, and Tony wasn't sure if Loki had planned for it to be so, but it helped him separate his disgust and anger from the facts they needed to plan their indoor revolution.

The downside to it was that it only highlighted how far they were from Asgard, and how long it had been since they had needed to whisper to make fun of Freyja's sexual appetite or Odin's so-called wisdom. Maybe it was why they always ended up speaking of their home world when they worked.

“Well, no. But if I were king, I would fix that little oversight from my ancestors. I mean, even the Frost Giants put a crown on their king. It's common sense.”

Tony wasn't sure how much Loki missed home. Sometimes, it felt like he really wasn't all that bothered at the thought that he might never see his family or his realm again. Considering how angry he had been at Thor and Odin, perhaps he was reluctant to admit in front of Tony that he did miss them. What little he said about Asgard now seemed to consist only of those things that a prince would never have been allowed to say in the Golden Realm, like he was determined to enjoy what he could of being in Sakaar. Maybe he simply didn't want to let feelings get in the way of his scheming.

“You always were the one member of this family to have some sense of style. Let me guess. Something tacky and gold. Maybe emeralds?”

“Oh, all the emeralds. So much gold. And I would have you forge it, of course.”

“Of course. Let me see. I'm thinking of a two-inch band of gold, surrounded by nine triangles like arrowheads. On each of them, engraved and then contrasted with dragon blood, a representation of one of the realms you rule over, with the most precious stone each of them can produce. Then, on the circle-”

“Enough,” Loki gave in, laughing. “I would try to bully you, and you'd make it worse than anything I could imagine. I should be careful not to inspire you.”

“What would you want, then?”

“Sincerely? If _I_ were in charge?” Loki tapped his fingers on a chart he was slowly putting together of all the essential allies of the Grandmaster. “Mmh. A diadem. Like - a circlet? No bigger than this, and only half circular.”

“You're describing a tiara,” Tony remarked, this time without mocking. It was an intriguing look into Loki's thoughts, more meaningful than the not-really-surprising revelation of his plotting for regicide as a cure to boredom.

“I'd have it made of bronze, I believe, not gold. With small horns on either side of the forehead.”

“I didn't know you actually liked the horns. I thought it was all royal symbolism, not your personal choice.”

“More or less,” Loki shrugged, casting his eyes from where they had drifted to the ceiling and back to his coded work. “Horns have been a traditional symbol for our family since King Bor. Thor's helm has wings as a nod to his control of the sky and weather. On the other hand, when one goes back, there is evidence that the horns were also a symbol of witchcraft. They were an attribute of Loður, the fire-god who helped the first men find their breath, soul and purpose.” He smiled at Tony's frown. “Way, way back, that is. Not quite a famous figure anymore. In fact, I think it was already an old legend when King Buri united Asgard as we know it. But he was always represented with a horned helm, and primitive men would wear them to cast spells or pray.”

“You probably know Asgard's history better than anyone,” Tony said, shaking his head. “I don't know how you can remember all those tales. Our history goes back three Kings and I'm not sure everyone in court could name all of them.”

But he could see it, the how and especially the why. It made perfect sense, once he had the facts, just as the horned helm did. Loki proudly wore the symbol that reunited sorcery with royalty, even if nobody else knew its meaning, the same way he kept Asgard's history close to his heart, to comfort himself with the certainty that all the pride and glory of his realm had once been closely linked to the use of magic. It wasn't so much his passion for knowledge, not this time. It was a justification of his own existence.

“It suits you,” he felt the need to say. “With that in mind, I mean.”

“It was certainly never for the joy of being compared to cattle by Thor,” the prince said, with just the ghost of the bite with which he would have spoken of his brother, a few weeks ago.

“I'm pretty sure he thought it was funny. And you did make fun of his feathers,” Tony remarked carefully, but nothing troubled the blank look of concentration on Loki's face, even as he answered noncommittally:

“It was a long time ago.”

It wasn't exactly an opening. Tony decided not to push it. They would have time enough to worry about mending the two brothers' relationship when they managed to leave Sakaar behind and ensure the two brothers met again in the first place.

* * *

A little at the time, their plan was taking shape. Tony fought the visceral displeasure of staying on Sakaar and his underlying fear of missing the chance to leave it by drowning himself in what work he could achieve. While Loki made friends with all the right people and learned about everything he could, Tony had found a way to make his waiting through the parties useful.

Their best bet at killing the Grandmaster, they had decided, would be to do the work themselves. Loki liked their chances at starting a revolt, but admitted that it might be harder to stop it once it had filled its purpose. That aside, it was difficult to predict the behavior of Sakaar's court and its people: the Grandmaster might have been a tyrant, but he had been a tyrant for all of eternity. Those who weren't killed in terrible ways for his entertainment, or as punishment for any perceived rebellion, had built their life on Sakaar by playing by his rules. Even if very few of these lives could be perceived as good, let alone pleasant, who could say for sure that the Sakaarians would give up on them willingly and accept a new leader?

Loki took it upon himself to make the people grow fond of him, and to prepare for any eventuality. Perhaps as an effort to spare Tony's feelings, he didn't speak of whatever military preparations he was making. Still, it was at Tony's own suggestion that he had agreed to risk everything at once: he would not let the Grandmaster's barbaric traditions go on. They hoped that the argument of not dying of starvation in a pile of trash would console the Sakaarians after the loss of their gladiatorial entertainment. 

The discussion of the actual murder was perhaps the weirdest they had in all their time on the planet. Loki had prepared a long list of proposed methods, supported by historical examples, with pros and cons for each. Of course, he had explained, it was both common and practical to simply stab a man to death in his bed, and they had the definite advantage of Loki being welcome there already. The obstacle to this was that the Grandmaster, though insane, was not absolutely unaware that some might want to kill him. Even at his most vulnerable (Tony grimaced and Loki laughed at that), the Grandmaster was still surrounded by at least a dozen guards waiting right outside of his room.

“I'm surprised he doesn't make them watch,” Tony grumbled.

“Oh, they usually do. I'm the one who asked for some privacy.”

While killing a dozen men alone was not completely impossible, it was, even to Loki, a risky bet. He would have no way to know if the soldiers on duty were of average, significant or great strength until the day he chose to act, as they were never quite the same. Then, even if Tony waited for him outside the chambers, they would still have to go through an entire palace of angry soldiers and confused courtiers before they could properly set things in motion. They scrapped the idea for its too many variables. 

They discussed dozens of possible scenarios. Tony made himself endure those ideas that implied killing the Grandmaster in his bath or in one of his orgy ships. Loki kept sighing that poison in his wine would have been the cleanest way, if only they could have found something likely to kill an Elder without bringing attention to themselves. In the end, the solution they picked as their best chance was the single most dangerous, insane one that Loki had brought up. Tony hoped the universe would appreciate their originality. Loki thought the Sakaarians would.

With the decision taken, and Loki having promised that he wouldn't discuss what the Grandmaster looked like naked ever again, all that was left to do was to prepare, and wait for the right moment. And so Tony found himself sitting next to Loki during parties, pretending to hold his stupid platter at any given time, and, with it, preparing the demise of the babbling old bastard next to him.

He was starting to like their chances. The certainty of making progress kept his darkest fears at bay, and when night came, after irritating parties and satisfactory work, he and Loki would sit on the giant bed, drink, laugh, and speak away the horror of Sakaar. Loki would tell him his favorite tales, not the gruesome, cruel ones he brought up for the Grandmaster, but those of comical ingeniousness, heroic adventures, or genius suspense he spun at his own demand. They discussed the future of Midgard, the affairs of Sakaar's courtiers, the great unknown beasts of Yggdrasil. They built a fantasy of a realm, sometimes, with Sakaar as they would fix it before leaving it: Tony's mechanics and Loki's magic, working together to turn horror into beauty, as the creators of old had turned nothingness into the worlds. They would be gods here, not by title but by action, and the generations to come would forget they had even existed as they faded into legend.

He always felt kind of stupid when he woke up, remembering the naive things they had talked about at night. But the embarrassment was quick to fade when Loki, smiling, told him it had been shameful to fall asleep so not to recognise that he was right about the Kraken, and the easiness of their time together would strengthen his nerves and his hopes for the coming day. How strange, he told himself many times, that it had taken this prison of a planet for them to act at last as themselves, fully, speaking of foolish and shameful and hilarious things, lying on the same bed as children did, yet with the knowledge of their adult proximity, sometimes teasing, sometimes burning, sometimes forgotten in their laughter, always there in the way their skin might touch and suddenly change them both.

They were close. One week, perhaps two, and either the Grandmaster would die, or they would. They didn't discuss that second option, though Tony wasn't sure if Loki really was that confident, or if he just held to some of that royal concept of always being right until proved otherwise. Twice, they had been invited to the contests again. Every day, Tony worked with the quiet stubborness of fixing everything.

Then, one morning, a pink-skinned servant with a robotic, toneless voice, came at their door to tell Loki that the Grandmaster was inviting him to see something ex-tra-or-di-na-ry. Tony had pretended to retch, and Loki had elbowed him in the ribs, but, leaving behind the pink servant, he had still shot him a reproachful grin, and it had softened the separation.

Tony had been left alone in the room, busying himself the best he could by trying to figure out how he would fix an old cruiser ship to turn it into an interstellar pod. His mind did struggle to focus, the unusual quiet of Loki's absence continuously bringing him to hoping that his prince was fine. That was, he still lived with the fear of any day being the day the Grandmaster grew tired of Loki and called for his execution. When it came to the rest of the duo's activities, well - Loki was better suited than he was to handle gruesome descriptions of carnage. The matter of his sexscapades with the old bastard was not a justifiable concern for Loki's safety, so Tony was starting to run out of options other than to admit he was just being pettily _jealous_. 

Two days prior, Loki had admitted he was growing bored of the old man's rather unimaginative inventory of positions. Tony told him it was all he deserved for putting such horrifying images in his vulnerable, up-until-recently-fully-attracted-to-the-opposite-sex mind, and Loki had laughed, a happy laugh full of the delight of breaking rules.

“Am I truly dragging you down this path, my dear Anthony?” He had actually taken Tony's hands in his, cold pale fingers locking with Tony's. “Did I open your eyes to all these unnatural hungers by admitting to them? You'll suffer when we go back home, turning away from all those possibilities you never considered.”

“If we just stuck to nature, we would be naked and fighting with rocks,” Tony had replied, something in his chest getting in the way of the first answer he had formulated.

“Well, that would make Sakaar quite the quintessence of natural behavior, when you put it that way.”

Loki's gaze stuck to his, so close, so vivid, and yet unreadable. Tony told himself to take a breath. He told himself it was completely stupid to just not say what he wanted to. He told himself Loki was thinking the exact same thing as he did. He told himself he needed to be the one who spoke, that it was a ridiculous waste of time to wait for Loki to say it.

Loki's hands had slipped out of his, and the prince had stood from the bed to get another bottle of liquor. The evening had gone on, with hundreds of moments that were just not right, and a few dozen moments that were ready long before he was.

He didn't know how many times each day he changed his mind. How many times he persuaded himself, from dawn to nightfall, that he and Loki were thinking alike, or that he was making everything up out of some deluded hope. And in those terrible moments of staying alone here, the thoughts only grew stronger, arguing that there was no universe in which Loki would want the Grandmaster and not  _him_ , or that the fact that he went with the Grandmaster at all was proof enough that he should stop fooling himself. And when Loki finally came back, he was no better for it, the rush of relief and hesitation blurring everything once more. 

Loki was definitely an equation he couldn't answer, and he would have hated it, if only he did.

That day, though, was different. Loki was gone for several hours, which was not unusual, but nevertheless unnerved him. He kept waiting, trying to make himself useful, yet always pausing to listen for footsteps in the hallway, expecting the moment when Loki would come back, hair wet from a shower, maybe wearing new clothes, to tease Tony about how he should have been there or, on the contrary, how lucky he was not to be so irresistible as him, and they would go on with their evening, knowing they had hours to themselves without any interference from the rest of Sakaar.

When Loki came back, his footsteps were that of a cat, and it was the unlocking of the laser door that warned Tony of his return. He wore the same thing he had hours ago, and his hair had the same neglected little curls that he had woken up with today. He was also pale as a draugr and looked like he had met his doom outside.

“Loki? What is it?” He asked immediately, because there was no denying that _something_ was wrong, and his heart raced already with the anger and fear of possibilities. How had the bastard hurt him? What had he done? Oh, but Loki had lied, he _should_ have been worried. Now he had forced Loki into something awful, and the prince had allowed it to happen. Or he had shown him something, something even more violent, even more horrible than his circus of death, that even Loki could not distance himself from. 

“Tony,” Loki said, first like he wanted him to back off, and then, a second time, “Tony?” like he was only just realizing he was there, frowning like somehow he had forgotten he would find him here.

“What happened? What did he do to you?”

Tony frowned, glancing in the hallway behind Loki. Nobody seemed to be following him. He turned back to his friend and went to take his hand, but Loki actually pulled it back, holding it to his chest. He blinked, as though surprised by his own reaction, before meeting Tony's eyes at last. They were unreadable. Loki looked at him, but his attention was on something else completely.

“What? No, I... Was with the Grandmaster,” he said at last, after seeming to search his memories for what Tony might be speaking about. “I'm fine.”

“Yeah, I know. And you look like...” He didn't know what to say. He had never seen Loki like this. He wasn't angry. He wasn't sad. He wasn't in pain. He looked like a fragile layer of ice, clear and pale. Ready to break at any moment, from the smallest shiver or touch. “Come on, let's sit you down,” Tony said, hesitantly gesturing toward the sitting area. “Do you want a drink? Maybe just water?”

“No. I'm fine. I'm - everything is okay,” Loki insisted, eyebrows furrowed. He consented to sitting down, but shook his head when Tony came to crouch next to him. His shoulders fell, and Tony watched as he took his head in his hands and slowly looked from Tony to the floor, from the floor to the windows. “He didn't hurt me,” he said finally, like he was just realizing it had been the question.

“Then what happened?” Tony urged, growing more impatient as the prince refused to explain, like he was not even aware he looked like he'd just fallen out of the Bifröst all over again. “What did he want?”

“...He wanted me to see one of his new fighters.” The answer came flat after a pause of many long seconds. Tony stared, waiting for more, but Loki seemed to think that his short sentence covered everything about his state.

He racked his brain, trying to figure out whatever could horrify Loki so. So what about a new fighter? Could it have been a monster so terrible as to send the prince into a state of shock just by looking at it? No - it had to be something more. Something personal enough that Loki could not distance himself from it. Had the Grandmaster figured out their plan? Had he threatened Loki with his fighter? Or was it something even more sick? Had he menaced to make Loki get - he shuddered to imagine - intimate with one of his gladiators, for his perverted viewing pleasure? Possibilities ran in his mind, ever more horrible; and Loki just stared at his own knees, either deep in thoughts or too shocked to even _think_ , giving him no target to direct his imagination at.

He couldn't stand it for long. He walked away from the sitting area, pouring a glass of water just to make himself believe he was doing something, and bringing it back to put it on the dragon skull table. Loki blinked at him, offering a small smile as a distracted thank you, yet not bursting out of his reverie. Tony was just about to either try to go to sleep or to break the window, he wasn't sure yet which one would better distract him, when finally the prince's voice pierced the silence again:

“Tony? Do you think vengeance is wrong?”

He turned to stare at him, unsure he had heard right. Loki looked almost child-like, seeking advice with desperately earnest attention.

“Vengeance?” Loki nodded. “I, uh... I don't know. I think... It depends, I guess.” He frowned, trying to figure out what his prince might be thinking off. They were already preparing the Grandmaster's death. If he had done something terrible, something more than he already had, maybe Loki wanted to see him suffer before he killed him. Tony wasn't sure why he was being the voice of reason, when his whole life, Loki had never seemed to care for anyone else's opinion, and he didn't want to suggest anything stupid if this was the first time Loki asked for advice. “I mean - in a practical way, it seems useless. I would try to fix a problem rather than just go for retaliation. Like, if you have an enemy... I would look for an end to the conflict, not risk a cycle of revenge to go on forever.” 

“It's more like a wergild,” Loki murmured. “A _talion_.”

The growing specificity was not making it any easier to figure out the right answer. Tony folded his arms, uncomfortable. Asgard's laws were old and unchanged, but often overlooked these days in favor of less sinister options. The common thieves and marauders were thrown in jail, and the crown saw to returning the stolen goods it found to the victims. Still, he knew that trials for murders still usually ended with a discussion of holmgang or wergild to be paid. The victim, or its family, would be allowed a fair compensation for the damage done. Many agreed to be given a sum of gold as payment, but Loki did speak of the more bloody resolutions: an eye for an eye, as went the saying. Mutilation, death, exile -whatever violence the assembled Thing was willing to concede was a fair equivalence to the wrong done. Tony could see the fairness of it. Even now, as he still felt ready to personally go after the Grandmaster for whatever he had done to Loki, he understood why it was still considered justice.

On the other hand, once anger and pain faded, was it not worse to find your own hands sullied with the enemy's blood? Forgiveness was a difficult word. Asking for mercy for an enemy sounded ironical. Yet Tony wasn't sure how comforting anyone could find it to turn from a victim into a perpetrator.

But this was  _Loki_ . Whoever had hurt him in this dreadful place deserved to suffer threefold what they had inflicted, didn't they?

“I think,” he said finally, “I think you should never have to dirty your hands to punish someone with such weapons as they used against you.” He looked at Loki's face as he took in his verdict, his green eyes locked on something he couldn't see. “And, if you're asking _me_ , then I'd say it's probably still not the best way. But - I know some people are averse to - seeing what they did wrong. And that the only way to obtain regret is to force them to see it. So if someone was hurt, and the only closure they could imagine was this, then, I don't think I would be allowed to tell them what they should do.”

“Closure,” Loki repeated flatly. “Like death. But starting again?”

“Starting what again?” Tony grimaced. Loki was not helping, giving no clear indication of what cruelty he wanted to punish. Starting again, once the Grandmaster was dead? Or did he speak of some sort of - redemption? Two enemies suffering the same thing, to consider themselves even and let go of resentment? “I think hurting or killing anyone probably leaves a mark. I don't know that everyone can let go of it. Loki, what are you thinking about?”

“But is it wrong?” Loki was looking at him again. “You've been thinking so much about this whole heroic business. Is it wrong, Tony? Wanting to make him pay?”

“I'm not any closer to being a flawless hero than you are,” Tony argued, startled. “I was - that whole thing referred to fighting for fun. You're speaking of something else completely.”

“Tony,” Loki said. No. Pleaded.

Tony swallowed. It was hard to think. It was hard to look at any principle, any general, impersonal judgement when all he could focus on was Loki. Loki taking care of him. Loki ready to throw the kingdom into war. Loki hurt, hurt beyond his ability to comfort him, and asking him if he was allowed to look for justice.

“No,” he gave in. It felt wrong, but it was the only answer he would be able to give. “No, I don't think it's wrong. I think it's normal to want justice.”

Loki lowered his eyes, and for a second Tony almost thought he had misread what answer Loki wanted. The prince nodded, and finally reached for the glass of water. Tony wanted to ask; he wanted to know what he had given his approval to, and what terrible thing had made Loki look for it in the first place, but he could tell it wasn't going to happen. He sat and watched Loki licking his lips. Tony could almost see him warming up; the fragile ice melting instead of breaking.

“We're still... Going on with our plan?” He asked eventually, figuring it was a justified question. “I mean - we wait until I'm done with...?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Loki was suddenly smiling, and though it seemed like it couldn't be right, Tony found himself relaxing. His friend was himself again - whatever had passed by was gone, at least for now. It was not perfection, but how could he resist wanting to believe nothing had changed after all? “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I just needed to think.”

“I usually know you to be able to think and breathe at the same time. Of course I worried,” Tony replied, trying to pass it off as a joke, like it would manage to make the memory of Loki's haunted look or his unpleasant questions less disturbing. “Try not to scare me like that, okay? I don't know what I'm supposed to do if something happens to you.”

“Kill the Grandmaster, steal a ship. Hope for the best. Probably die leaving the atmosphere knowing I told you so.”

“I don't mean about Sakaar,” Tony replied, not dignifying that last part with an answer. His throat went dry, but he didn't let himself pause, not this time. Didn't let his guts tell him to abort mission before he went too far, didn't let his mind cower away by saying it wasn't the right moment. “I don't want to lose you. I don't- I don't want to be apart from you. Not even after we leave this place. I-I can see that you're all relaxed here, and you think we can just play it off, and I don't know if you're laughing at me or just at everything else, but the thing is, I'm being serious. I'm...” Loki's eyes were boring into his, and the panic was catching up to his throat, threatening to cut him off before he could actually say it. He ran a hand over his face, exhaling shakily. “Wow, this is hard. I'm not even sure if you're enjoying watching me babble like that or if you're going to think I've lost my mind. I don't know, I have no idea if I just imagined everything. It's really your fault, you know, the whole turning into a girl thing? Messed me up. I was trying to make it sound funny, I'm not actually blaming you. Look, um-”

“Tony.”

He winced, taking Loki's interruption as the bell to signify the end of his chance at explaining. Norns, this had gone wrong. He should have stuck with what he had rehearsed. But his rehearsing had always sounded pitiful. Not that he had done much better now, dancing around the words he actually wanted to pronounce. Come on, when had he ever struggled so much? He was good at flirting, right? Tony Stark, king of casually seducing everyone at the tavern. But Loki was not a maiden just looking for fun, and Tony had not wanted to make it sound like it was all it was, but now he probably had sounded way too serious, and Loki would think he had lost his mind with isolation.

“Tony?”

He forced himself to look up. Loki's little smile was both a cause for terror and relief. If Tony had been a sorcerer, he would have moved back in time to go back on everything he had said. He was pretty sure sorcerers couldn't do that, though, or Loki would have mastered it.

“Yeah, that came out a weird bit. A bit weird. Now that, I am blaming you for. You come here and scare me to death, of course it messes me up. You don't get to judge me, not after your staring into the abyss like that-”

“You really are babbling,” the prince remarked, and grinned. “I- yes. I'm sorry. I don't want to be laughing at you - I don't mean it to be insulting.”

“You always mean to insult everyone,” Tony said, arming himself with the easy remark.

“Not you,” Loki said, standing from his seat to face Tony. Bam - disarmed, just like that, by a prince looking down and then back up, almost like he was being shy, yet smiling a big, relieved smile. “You're my favorite person. I want to stay with you, too. And, I'm growing concerned that your speaking nonsense is contagious, so, look, I'll say it, I, ah, yes. You didn't imagine things. I mean that, well, we might as well.”

“You know, it's very weird that you can talk all casually about having sex with the Grandmaster, and then, after...”

“You're not better.”

“Well, I am. I'll say it. I want to sleep with you. There. I'm not five hundred, I can talk about it like an adult.”

“I want to sleep with you, too,” Loki said, covering the last part of his argument, shrugging to indicate just how easily he had said it, as well. “I've been doing terrible forbidden things long before you even imagined doing them, so you don't get to say that I'm shy about it and you're not.”

“Oh, I really don't say that, obviously not, I mean, I'm looking forward to you showing me all the terrible forbidden things. With all your experience-”

“Shut it,” Loki said, losing the battle with his own creeping grin first, and laughing as his hands moved to Tony's shoulders.

The kiss came like jumping from a cliff, with neither of them entirely sure the other would dare, or they would, until they were in the air. Tony had somehow always known Loki would taste like snow, but he had not expected the audacity of his tongue, the proximity of his chest, and the spice of his perfume all registering at once. He stumbled a half-step back; their lips broke apart, his mouth filled with a gasp that wasn't his, and Loki's eyes as wide and as green as he had ever seen them, looking at nothing but him. Tony's arms locked around his waist, finding Loki's mouth again with more urgency. It was overwhelming, increasing instead of fading, a thousand things to discover jumping to his senses every time he thought he had listed them all, hands running over Loki’s body like he was looking to map him.

Loki actually teleported them on the bed, which was just twelve paces away; Tony laughed when he understood what the sudden wave of magic had been about, but Loki was pulling him close already, rolling on his back, his slender, cold body under Tony's suddenly feeling new and unknown.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

“No worship,” Loki's voice sounded like a laugh, or like a gasp, “no worship in bed, darling.”

“You wouldn't like that?” Tony wondered, and though he needed to touch like he needed to breath, he paused one long second, to look at the crown of long dark hair spread on the pillow, and the spark in Loki's eyes as he grinned.

“Maybe later. I know respect is hard for you and you already have so much to discover,” the prince said with a shaky, laughing voice, and Tony laughed back, not because it was especially funny, but because it felt impossible to contain the relief, the excitement, the fondness, everything at the same time. 

The next kiss felt even more out of breath, even more desperate. Tony felt Loki's cool hands moving on his back, pulling him closer, body on body, and he wondered how he had not gone insane waiting for this.

He had had his share of lovers in the past. Good ones, bad ones, strangers, girlfriends. Comparing them to Loki was comparing rain to ocean. Every gasp and laugh, every shudder and pull was its own discovery, every instant revealing more of a yet unknown territory he willingly gave himself in to. And Loki? Loki was clinging to him, his breath and his hands trembling and reaching, his winter-like skin warming under Tony's, and they shuddered and smiled both, complicity and vulnerability mixing in with their whispers. 

When they gave in, for they were both proud and stupid and hungry and laughing, when at last they just let themselves rest, lying in a tangled mess of limbs in the middle of undone sheets and lost clothes, with hands clasped together with crushing strength now just holding one another fondly; when the night sky outside with its portals and its chaos only gave in enough light to trace the line of a hip and the curve of closed eyelids and lashes brushing over skin in an effort to stay awake; then, Tony knew for sure. Asgard and Sakaar and the Nine Realms be damned: his home was wherever this chaotic bastard of a prince would be smiling at him like this.

* * *

The night should have lasted into at least the next month for Tony to be satisfied with it. It turned out that cuddling lazily and play-fighting for the best pillow were actually his favorite things in life, and he had simply been naive enough to believe this whole time that it was smithing and flying.

He wanted nothing more than the opportunity to fix that foolish misinterpretation by enjoying his newfound hobbies until the next convergence, plus to get to admire all of how a sleepy Loki would successively nuzzle into his neck, curl up on himself, spread like a starfish to declare all the space was his, and even drool a little bit. Unfortunately, it appeared their obligations to maintain face were not ready to go away just because they wanted them to. It was only mid-morning, and they had just had the time for _one_ more adventure in discovering each other's body and then setting up breakfast when a sleepwalking-looking man came bearing another of the Grandmaster's invitations.

Tony's worries had dissipated completely in the previous night; they came back all at once, heavier than ever, with the realization that he had never gotten an answer from Loki about what the man had done to him, other than his clear wish for revenge. He looked at him. Some sentimental part of him which had not received the memo about worrying remarked that he was looking at his  _lover_ , and his lover was Loki, and that was amazing. He agreed completely, but the celebrating didn't feel adequate if Loki was about to go back out to face the bastard.

Loki's face, relaxed and beaming a second before, went back in an instant to that awful blank neutrality. He gave the servant a single regal nod to let him start his message.

“The Grandmaster demands that the Asgardian Loki join him tonight for a breathtaking spectacle in the Arena,” the man recited dutifully, though without enthusiasm. “An exceptional event in the Contest of Champions is to take place at sunset, with the Grandmaster's most recent fighter taking on all of your favorite gladiators in a true test of will and courage which is sure to capture the attention of spectators big and small. People of Sakaar, rejoice.”

“Right. Thank you so very much,” Loki said, once the monotonous speech was given. “Tell the Grandmaster I will be there.”

“Attendance of tonight's contest is mandatory. The Grandmaster wishes to complete the yearly cleaning up of Sakaar's no-fun boring people. Anybody found in the Tower during the contest shall be executed as a special after-contest event in which the public is invited to bring in their favorite rocks.”

“How exciting. Please go away.”

The servant bowed, turned, and walked away, all with the same mechanical, lifeless movements. Tony put down the slice of bread he had been about to bite into, having decided a few weeks back that hungry nausea was better than the alternative on contest days.

“It's only been three days since the last fight,” he sighed as the servant's footsteps faded with distance. “That's the fighter he had you meet yesterday?” He added, reluctant to look back into the unpleasant topic, but well aware ignoring it would not make it go away. “Are you... going to be okay to see it happen?”

Loki's face betrayed nothing, and he had moved back to spreading a layer of fruit jam on his own bread. There was no sign of the shock of the previous day in his gestures, but Tony didn't trust this simple fact as an indication that all was well. As if as proof, Loki, playful and teasing an instant before, remained quiet for a time, without denying that something was unusual about the fight to come - something that linked the previous afternoon's unknown trouble with tonight's hurried contest. 

“Yes,” he said finally, without clarifying which question he was answering. “I am sorry that you will have to watch it, too.”

“This is one of the last of those things,” Tony said. Even if he didn't feel particularly ready for the new horrors, he repeated his encouragements like they were enough for him: “Soon, we'll destroy that entire arena. We'll put an end to this monstrosity. We just need to hold on a little bit longer.”

“Yes,” Loki replied. “Yes, I know. We will.” He smiled, and Tony told himself it wasn't his normal smile because they were discussing watching people die, and nobody could really smile and mean it when those were the circumstances. He told himself it was just an illusion, that this Loki, the same one that had come back from meeting with the new champion, really was the same Loki he had made love to, and kissed, and laughed with.

He told himself, but he struggled to make it convincing.

* * *

Loki disappeared a little before the contest. He needed, he said, to speak to someone, and was absent for long enough that Tony, in the Grandmaster's private box, grew concerned he had been arrested and selected for the evening murder. When he did make it back, just a few seconds before the Grandmaster himself showed up, he gave no explanations as he sat near Tony, and there was a worrying light in his eyes, making his staring at the arena's ground seem on the edge of sanity.

“Loki?” He waited until the Grandmaster was ordering his drink to whisper hurriedly. “It's okay. Just focus on me if you can't handle it.”

“I need to see,” came the answer. It sounded almost horrified. Sad. Or - guilty? “It's too late anyway.”

“What? What's too late? Loki?”

The prince shook his head, and the Grandmaster was back at his side. Tony cast his eyes down to avoid being noticed by the madman as he held on to his platter, but didn't miss the way the Grandmaster placed his hand on Loki's shoulder as he asked if everything was to his taste. He set his jaws and repeated himself that it was just an unpleasant moment to go through, even as Loki's voice, back to its normal, cheerful self, assured the Grandmaster he was looking forward to the show. The prince’s ability to keep his act together despite everything else had never seemed so incredible to Tony.

“I'm so glad. I just knew there was something about him you would enjoy!” The tyrant seemed besides himself with pride, like a child beaming at praise for a drawing he had gifted his favorite teacher. “And don't you worry: I'm sending in _everyone._ We're going one at a time, I want it to be good fun, but whatever he can do, I assure you, he's not seeing the other side.”

“Of course. I have no doubt your champions will triumph spectacularly. Thank you for your generosity, Grandmaster.”

“Don't look so serious now, starlight! It was the least I could do. I was starting to think you didn't love me back, and then - wham, just before I throw you in a lion pit just to check, you finally ask a favor! The pleasure's mine, darling. Anytime you see prisoners you want dead, you tell me! Alright now, no more time-wasting. Let's begin!”

Tony frowned, looking at Loki in growing confusion as the Grandmaster stood to give his usual 'thank-you-so-much-for-unwillingly-attending!' speech to the cheering crowd. The prince didn't look back, resting perfectly still on his seat, eyes on the arena. Tony's mind raced, trying to piece things together. Was that it? Had Loki condemned tonight's prisoner to his terrible fate because he had felt the Grandmaster needed to feel his 'love'? It would certainly be enough to justify how horrified he had seemed. It could fit. Loki's pale face as he said the Grandmaster had not hurt him. His feeling he  _needed_ to see. 

But, no. There were still odd pieces. Some things didn't click. Where did the vengeance come in? Was Loki blaming the Grandmaster for forcing him to participate in this massacre? This had seemed so  _personal_ , so what?

No. No, that was absurd. His imagination was going wild. It couldn't be.

“Attention everyone!” The Grandmaster's voice echoed in the arena and through the wasteland. “Welcome, welcome to this special event! Tonight, my dear people, we will not watch two contenders of extraordinary strength destroy one another in the arena. No! Tonight, in honor of my dear friend, we will see one man - just the one! - as he faces all of your favorite champions, probably killing most of them, all until he is finally destroyed. Isn't that exciting?!” The crowd roared. “Now, now, I hear you asking. How can one man alone fight against the one and only Cull Obsidian?” (Cheers) “Against the indestructible Kallark?!” (Cheers) “The ever-hungry Toxin?! The vicious Ulik?! Well, tonight, I give you the ferocious, the promising - and I say promising though this is a one-night event! He has a few tricks up his sleeves, ladies and gentlemen, and I say no more, but he's making his debut, so let's give him a big round of applause: I give you... The LORD OF THUNDER!”

The crowd's mad cheers and excited yelling was deafening, but it wasn't enough to cover the Grandmasters' voice. It wasn't enough either for Tony not to notice that Loki, who had always played the passionate spectator, was dead silent. Sitting very still, the prince only had eyes for the arena, and the doors that had opened on one end of it, making way for the victim of this humorless joke to enter.

Any last hope of being wrong melted away from him. His mind kept trying to figure out a way for this to be a bad dream, a mistake, a coincidence; but there, on the arena sand, in this nightmare place outside of reality, was his friend Thor.

He should have doubted, though. Thor was a prince and a god, a beam of light in any room, taking up space and commanding respect. The man who entered the combat zone was a dark, lean figure, with a head of shorn blond hair, cut nearly as short as a thrall's, and holding a heavy-headed mace. Though he did wear a blood-red cape, there was nothing in his standing even hinting at the God of Thunder's glory. 

But it  _was_ Thor. It was his old friend, his prince, arrogant and careless and selfish, yes, but his friend nonetheless, brave and charming and loyal. And maybe they had grown apart. Maybe he had seen those parts of Thor that he could never quite forgive him for. Maybe he had fallen out of the enchantment that had made Thor a flawless hero. But none of those things could wipe away centuries of companionship, centuries of Thor's enthusiasm and his friendship, centuries of Thor being absolutely incapable of coming up with a cutting insult, centuries of friendly rivalries and constant contests and shared memories. It didn't change the memory of how Thor had welcomed him, lowborn and always tinkering, and called him his friend when others doubted him.

It didn't change the fact that Thor should not be in Sakaar, in this horrible place of death and games and madness, and certainly not in this awful arena, looking, for the first in his life, small.

“Loki,” he said, clasping the prince's wrist and standing from his station. They needed to act, quickly. Loki needed to stay calm. They needed - they were not ready, but to Hel with it; at least they had enough preparation to cause some confusion, to buy some time for Thor to fight his way to them. If he activated their plan, then Loki would have his hands free to shield his brother, and once it was the three of them-

“Sit, Tony,” Loki enjoined him in a breath.

“Now, who best to first fight a guy that makes sparkles, uh?” The Grandmaster's voice boomed with excitement. “Well, ladies and gents, let's see if our Lord of Thunder can get close enough to try and electrify _this guy_!”

“Loki.” If the man in the arena was Thor, the man sitting next to him was not Loki. Tony shook his head, disbelief and horror creeping up as the dark-haired prince remained seated, his glass of alcohol suspended near his face without any evident intention of drinking from it - or any other action. He stayed as a statue; the only part of him that seemed to be alive were his eyes, shiny and unblinking, as he stared at the battleground.

“Let's give a warm round of applause to our own, our savaaaaaage... OBSIDIAN!”

Thor looked around himself. Even from a distance, his expression was grim, and Tony saw him holding up his mace in preparation for battle; but it was unquestionable that Thor was the smallest fighter he had ever seen in the arena. And the opponent that the Grandmaster had chosen to throw his way...

Cull Obsidian was of a species Tony had never seen before, and had been eager to tell himself was probably extinct. The man - if so he could be called - stood about four meters tall, with large shoulders and hands big enough to hold a grown man in each without strain as though they were but twigs. The Grandmaster called him savage, but he was more of an efficient, merciless brute, ending his fights with quick, violent strikes. The only thing that made him interesting enough for the Grandmaster and his crowd was his weapon: a massive axe taller than most of his adversaries, whose head could swing at the end of a sharp chain to strike an enemy at a distance. The monster had scaly skin and his face was an unchanging grimace of teeth and ridges. 

The heavy footsteps of the fighter in the arena were met by the crowd's encouragement. Cull held his axe with both hands, and paused at a distance from Thor, as if to contemplate him. Maybe he wondered what sort of abilities such a small creature might possess, that it had been thrown in the Contest of Champions. Maybe he was amused, or even contemplating how he would kill this one: crushed under his foot, strangled by the chains. Tony had never seen any evidence of emotion from the creature. 

“Loki,” he rasped, unable to look away from the stand-off. “We need to do something! Now!”

“He's just fine,” Loki murmured, sounding unconcerned. “You know how he loves a challenge.”

“Have you _lost your mind_?!” Everyone was cheering, and even in the private box, nobody was paying any mind to his standing up, but the Grandmaster would be back in an instant. “We can't leave him there! He's going to get killed!”

“Look. He saw us.”

It looked like it, indeed. Thor was facing Cull, taking a few steps back and watching for what his enemy would do, but his eyes briefly moved up from the monster and directly to the private box. Tony couldn't even begin to figure out what to tell him -  _I'm so glad to see you? Watch out for the axe's head? I'm going to get you out of there?_ \- but Thor did not linger, returning his attention to his adversary. And Tony was left with a new, fresh wave of that wanting-to-wake-up-immediately sort of horror.

Thor had not at all seemed surprised. No. He had seemed  _furious_ .

“You knew this was going to happen,” he said, finally connecting the dots he had not wanted to figure out. “He was the one you saw yesterday! You knew Thor was on Sakaar and you- you- he's your _brother_!”

“The Grandmaster was going to make him fight, no matter what,” Loki murmured, still not even meeting his eyes. Tony couldn't stop himself - panic and fury both twisted in his heart and he grabbed Loki by the front of his shirt, giving him a hard shake.

“He's your brother! Where's your love for him?! What sort of madness has gotten into you?!”

“Hey, hey! Off you get! Off! Get him off!”

Loki's startled eyes disappeared from his vision. Strong hands pulled him away from the prince and shoved him on his knees with his back to the arena. The crowd gasped, then cheered; he heard Cull growling, but could not twist his head to find what was happening below. The Grandmaster came to stand in front of him, looking displeased.

“What _is it_ with you? We're all missing the show!” He complained, his eyes travelling from Tony to the arena. “Treating my friend like that! During a contest he asked for!”

“Grandmaster, it's-”

“Don't you interrupt, starlight, I'm defending you! Honestly, what _is_ wrong with servants?! You let them live, you let them serve, and then- Oh, oh, look at that, starlight, oh! Did you see that hit?! Topaz, deal with this one, we want to see the action. So rude, I swear!

“Should I send him to be killed off at the end of the fight?” The armored woman asked with a smirk.

“Do whatever, I don't know,” the Grandmaster waved off, now looking past Tony and into the arena. “We're busy here.”

“Grandmaster, please.” Loki's voice sounded more like itself than it had since the beginning of this nightmare, heated with emotions, but Tony couldn't make himself look his way. Even now, heart beating with fear, he couldn't imagine what he would do if he found Loki looking at him with this care, this love he had given him until so recently, and had to admit that it was the same man who was watching his brother in the arena without a blink of concern. “Please, I caused this misbehavior. Let's forget it.”

“I'll get you a new one, better.” The Grandmaster sounded properly whiny now. “The _show_!”

“I want no new one. You! Release my servant. Your services are not needed.” Loki's voice was authoritative enough that the hands of the soldiers on Tony's shoulders released their grip somewhat; it wasn't enough for Topaz, who stepped forward with an angry frown, or the Grandmaster, who was groaning and kicking the floor beneath his seat like a petulant child whose day was being _ruined_. 

“We'll see to it later! Just stop talking and _look at the contest_! The two of you! And the next one who interrupts me gets beheaded!” He added impatiently, silencing Topaz as she had been about, in turn, to protest. 

The soldiers released Tony. Everyone was suddenly deadly quiet. The Grandmaster gave a disappointed whine and returned to watching the action in the arena. Begrudgingly, Tony pulled himself from his knees and, refusing to look Loki's way, fearfully peered down into the sand circle.

Thor, amazingly, was still holding his ground. Years of regularly fighting Storm, Fire or Frost Giants had probably prepared him to some extent for an opponent like Cull. Of course, usually, they made sure to form a team of at least three whenever they expected to fight a giant; but it was true that Thor had managed to bring down several foes of extraordinary strength alone with a mighty swing of Mjölnir. Where was Mjölnir now? Tony would have loved to know. But even without his hammer to allow him to fly, Thor was doing a good job of avoiding each of Cull's strikes, and it looked like he had managed to land several hits already. The crowd was overexcited, the unforeseen disadvantage of the old champion bringing them to cheer for Thor. 

Cull, though, was growing increasingly impatient and frustrated. Throwing his axe's head far in the air, he spun on himself rapidly, sending the chain of his weapon slashing in a great circle all around the arena. Tony held his breath, having seen the chain's unexpected sharpness be the end of two other fighters in the previous contests; but Thor, per luck or deduction, had rolled to the side just in time to avoid the descending bite of the chain. Before it could complete its circle and come back to him, he gave a battle cry to shake the entire stage, and ran at Cull's turned back, jumping at the last second with all the strength the God of Thunder was known for - and bringing his mace down, hard, on the back of Cull's neck.

Gasps shook the private box. Cull staggered; Thor managed to hold on to his back. The chain's circular motion made it hit the back of the giant's legs and forced him down - just in time for Cull to impale himself on his own returning weapon. Thor jumped to the ground at the exact same instant the sharp metal of the axe's head pierced through his enemy's chest.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Tony's shoulders fell heavy with relief. Thor looked up, sparing one glance around the arena and the rows of delighted Sakaarians before turning right back to the private box. His angry glare ignored Tony without even seeming to notice him, stopping at something behind him.

“That was splendid,” the Grandmaster said. He started laughing, and startled Tony when he jumped to his feet, all anger evidently forgotten as he ran to his projection-console: his giant face appeared above the arena and made even Thor startle, one second before he repeated in a voice that echoed all around the planet's surface: “That was _splendid_! Wasn't that splendid, everyone? Beautiful! Really beautiful!”

“ENOUGH!” Thor's roar actually covered the amplified blabbering of the Grandmaster. He spared the holographic tyrant a glare before turning his attention back to the box. “Are you yet satisfied, brother?! Does your treachery stop now?!”

Tony made himself look back. Loki was watching Thor right back. His back was straight, his face showing nothing but disinterest; but Tony knew him well enough not to look there for indications. The prince's pale fingers were tightly closed around his seat's edges, and though his expression suggested he might yawn of boredom at any given moment, Tony saw his Adam's apple shifting.

The crowd was murmuring with excitement and confusion both. Thor showed teeth at Loki's lack of response; but before he could insist, the Grandmaster's voice resonated in the arena with evident glee.

“Now, our Lord of Thunder is getting in quite a fighting mood, everyone! I told you he had fun tricks; we have yet to see them! Now that we're all warmed up and while our friend is being grumpy, I suggest we really start this party! What do you say? Yes! Now everyone make a lot of noise, please, yes, a lot of noise for our friend Thunder! Let's show him we're far from done with treachery! Let's just get this big guy removed and we'll be back in a sec for more! Until then, do keep cheering! I don't want to see anyone sitting quietly!” 

Obedient and motivated, either by fear or by enthusiasm, the crowd of Sakaarians soon echoed with chants of  _Thun-der, thun-der!_ and continued applause. The private box buzzed with murmurs, onlookers quickly moving on to get a drink before the host returned. In the arena, Thor closed his hands into tight fists. Sakaarians armed with spears entered the arena to drag Cull's body out, leaving a long trace of blood in the dark sand, pointing at Thor with their weapons the whole time. The prince did look at the door they pulled the corpse through, but he did not attempt to run.

“What in the Nine Realms is going on?” Tony asked, once the blond had turned his back to them. He tried to control his anger and panic, and failed at both when he found Loki sitting in exactly the same frozen position. “Loki,” he hissed. “What do you think you are doing?!”

His friend - his lover - the man whom he loved, and who was watching without lifting a finger as his brother stood waiting for another merciless battle - Loki, unknown and unpredictable Loki, remained silent. Tony was about ready to tear his hair out of his own skull in frustration when the prince's voice finally broke through a couple of small, miserable sentences:

“The Grandmaster saw him fight. He wanted him in the arena. Not even I could have convinced him otherwise.”

Tony stared. Loki's shoulders seemed to hunch a little under his gaze, but he didn't add anything - nothing to conclude this explanation with anything useful, any announcement of a secret plan.

“Oh really? Not even you?” he repeated, incredulous. When Loki didn't go back on the lie, he scoffed, feeling, perhaps, too betrayed, considering he was the one in here, and Thor was the one in the sand. And yet. “You know, if there's a person you claimed you never lied to, it was Thor. And right after him? _Me_. I can get that this place is fucking up your brain, because it's really fucking with mine, but lying to my face? Am I- am I a complete idiot to you?”

“It's the truth,” Loki protested, raising a wide-eyed, imploring look his way. “I could never-”

“You talked to him! He knew you were here! You actually talked to him and then came to sit here to watch him die and you want to tell me that was you trying everything you could? You want me to believe that the great Loki of Asgard, the god of _lies_ , had no way to help? No way to make the fight happen in a few days? No way to convince the Grandmaster to wait while you organised a- a surprise, or that it would be more fun to build the suspense - even I can think of that kind of stupid lie in a minute, so you had to have a dozen more before you even opened your mouth yesterday, and you? You could have convinced the big lunatic of any of that if you had tried. So you want to actually look me in the eye, or better yet, your _brother_ , and tell us again why you _asked_ for this?!” 

He made a sweeping hand gesture toward the arena, feeling himself boiling with anger and disbelief. No. He didn't want to believe it. There had to be a true explanation. Loki could have persuaded the sun not to rise in the morning if he had wanted to. Of course the Grandmaster was insane, they knew that, of course there was only so much you could obtain from someone so unhinged, but they still had some margin. Loki still had the bastard's favor. He could have found a thousand ways to delay, to soften, anything to give them a chance.

He waited, quietly imploring Loki with every passing second to just explain what was actually going on. Was he missing something? Was there a plan besides the plan? Or had something truly happened, something so awful that it had persuaded the prince to just  _give up_ ? Worse. The Grandmaster had said Loki had  _asked_ for tonight's contest. What sort of peril would have Loki sacrifice his brother?

Loki shook his head weakly. Still he said nothing. Tony was too aware of running out of time. Topaz stood at the door, too far to hear, but glaring in constant threat. The Sakaarians would soon return to their seats. The cheering continued in the bleachers. Any time now, the Grandmaster would annonce Thor's next opponent, and he would be stuck here watching with Loki stiff as death next to him.

“Loki,” he said once more, the despair pouring into his voice and softening the rage. “I don't know what got into you. I don't know why you won't tell me. But I know that this? This isn't you. You're Thor's little brother. You're the second prince of Asgard. You've protected him all your lives.” He came closer to Loki, crouching besides his seat to lower his voice, pleading. “All these centuries, you stood by his side. Even when he was being dumb as a rock, you went along and kept him _safe_. Even when he wasn't aware of it, even when nobody was, you went with him, and with all his stupid friends, me included. And I know it wasn't because you enjoyed it. I know that now. It was always for him. You- you slept in the cold,” he laughed nervously as he racked his brain for the pathetic memories, and found too many to choose, “you ate raw rabbit, you chased those stupid goats he wanted to catch. You wasted hours in stinky taverns with all six of us idiots instead of staying home with your books. And why? Thor wouldn't have died out there. All those years, Odin would have sent guards, spies after us, because we were young and stupid and we couldn't be trusted. You didn't have to come along, but you did. Because you _wanted_ to protect him. You wanted to be his right-hand man. You wanted to be more important to him than we were, didn't you, Loki? You wanted to share his adventures, even if they were shitty adventures, because they were _his_.”

It was happening again. Loki shook his head, trying to refuse what he was saying. His eyes were wet with unshed tears, and a joyless smile twisted his lips abruptly, showing teeth like he was being physically hurt, despairing as Tony kept talking, quietly, making him listen. Ice, right about to break. 

Tony could just see it now. He could imagine just how it had been. How Loki would have followed Thor outside of the council room, leaving everything else behind just to be the one Thor would be able to talk to. Just to be there to comfort him, he who was so used to Odin's reproaches, he who would know what to say to soothe humiliation and pain. He would have been so ready to be Thor's ally, the two of them against the world, even if for just an instant.

And then Thor shoving him away. Thor, hurt in his pride, Thor unaware of how lucky he was, Thor irritated because he had never been prepared for this. Thor telling Loki off, refusing to take comfort from his little brother, who understood those complicated things that resisted Thor's mind, that made him look stupid and unworthy for the first time in his life. Thor, having lived his whole life with approval and love and support, without anyone having ever taken the time to tell him how lucky he was.

What was it he had told Loki on that day? _Know your place_. The selfish, cruel words of one who didn't even _realize_ he could be either of those things. Loki had suffered Odin's anger too, he had suffered the judgment of the realm's most important men, yet he had followed to make sure Thor was okay. And in return - _Know your place._ Yes, that was what Loki had repeated. His brother's words, rejecting him so awfully when he had pushed everything away to stand with him.

In that moment, Tony was now sure of it, Loki had looked exactly like this. An ice statue, so fragile the smallest shock would shatter him.  _Know your place_ , Thor had said, and Loki had broken into sharp, dangerous blades of ice. He had been pushed to his limits and, when nothing else had seemed to matter anymore, the need to see his pain echoed in his brother had been the strongest. 

Here was Loki now, in hostile Sakaar, with Tony demanding answers, with the Grandmaster threatening death, with Thor yelling in rage even as his life was in danger. Here was Loki, having to decide what to do, overwhelmed in every way, the ice of his heart and mind threatening to give in to the fire inside. All it would take, Tony realized, was the smallest push.

What had the brothers said to one another in private? How had Thor reacted, seeing his brother again after the fall, finding him alive? What had he said to Loki, finding him here, playing friends with a tyrant? Had he asked for help? Or demanded it? Had he been relieved to see Loki? Or had he immediately jumped to demanding answers?

Oh, how the pieces did click together this time.

“Loki,” he whispered. “Look at you. Look at him. This isn't what you want. I get it. I get that you want to punish him. Honestly, I do. But if he dies down there, thinking you're betraying him - you're never going to forgive yourself. This is not going to make you happy, Loki, no matter how you might want it right now. So please, _please,_ you need to get outside of your own head and help me figure this out, because I can't do it alone.”

“It's not about punishing him,” Loki protested in hardly more than a breath. “I don't want to hurt him.”

“I know you don't.” Tony stiffened as he heard the amplified voice of the Grandmaster resonating in the arena, thanking the people for their continued cheers, and he gritted his teeth, pulling Loki's hand in his and locking their fingers together, as they had the night before. It felt like a lifetime ago, but he wanted it to work - wanted it to remind Loki that he could let the ice melt instead of breaking, and save what they had found. “Loki.”

“I never wanted to hurt him. I only wanted him - once, just once in his life - I just wanted Thor to ask for my help.”

Tony watched Loki smile with the admission, like he was just telling the punchline of some hilarious joke. He waited, even as he felt the courtiers coming back to their seat near them, even as the Grandmaster's voice announced the second act of the great show, the trap slowly closing in on them. He didn't look at Thor, whom he could imagine pacing the arena furiously, too confused and too hurt to suspect even a quarter of what events had truly brought him here. Alone, betrayed and disarmed, Thor would be holding on to the only way he knew, preparing to fight and preparing to win, until eventually he ran out of enemies or something interrupted the fight and saved him.

There were a whole lot of enemies here, all of them at least as strong as Thor. And even if they weren't, well, the Grandmaster had already decided the issue of the fight. There would be no grand triumph for Thor today.

Tony would have wanted to tell Loki that Thor would understand. He wanted to say that of course the older prince knew how precious Loki's help was, of course he would have asked for it, of course he would have admitted he needed Loki to get off this planet, and he would have asked his brother what to do, and would have followed his instructions, not ordered him to leave.

Except the last thing Loki needed right now was a comforting lie.

“...They have a lot of teeth, they have a lot of arms, and frankly I'm still not sure they have a brain to go with all of that. Let's see how creative our Lord of Thunder can be if he hopes to defeat the hungry, the ugly, the stinky... TOXIN!”

The courtiers behind them whispered in excitement and stretched their necks to see the symbiotic monster stumbling into the arena as it was released from its cage. Tony heard the crowd screaming and moving from their front seats in the bleachers as the six-armed creature, with its liquid flesh dripping around and its long tongue sticking past of rows and rows of sharp teeth, twisted furiously in search of its prey.

“He's not going to ask,” he said, reigning in on the fear and panic he felt.

“Starlight! I'm telling you this last time, get this interrupting insect out of the way! It's like you're not even enjoying my gift!”

“If you wait for Thor to say please and thank you, Loki, then he's going to die today. I'm sorry. I wish he were a better brother. I wish your father wasn't a piece of crap and I wish I were a better friend and I had done something a long time ago. I _really_ wish this Norns-cursed planet wasn't real-”

“Hey! Shorty! I'm talking to you! Are you hearing me? I _will_ feed you to _that_!”

“But I know I _am_ happy that if I die, it's gonna be after I got to kiss you.” He grinned, though he wasn't sure himself how much of it was pure panic. “I really would be extra happy if we didn’t die and I got to do it again, and if we went home and you allowed me to tell Thor what a piece of crap he is instead of killing him.”

“That's it. Okay, that's it! Topaz, give me the Melting Stick. Everyone move back. I've had it. This is ruined. It's ruined!”

“So, um. Anytime you want to launch the emergency plan, love. Whenever you're ready. Loki?”

He heard the footsteps behind him, the creaky leather noise of the Grandmaster's sandals, the charging noise of that lethal weapon of his, and wondered if maybe he should have insisted a little bit more on the  _extra happy_ thing as Loki's eyes lingered on the arena, his face full of hesitation. He closed his eyes tight, telling himself he had tried, and, for Sakaar, this had probably been a decent lifespan. 

It turned out that he still didn't want to die and he shuddered, terrified, right at the instant when he expected the Stick would touch his back and kill him.

Because of that reflex, he missed the moment when the Grandmaster's belt turned to a tangled pair of snakes and both found squishy parts of him to bite into for maximum surprise. He also missed Topaz spontaneously grabbing a tray of wineglasses and starting to throw them at random toward the guests. He missed the way the soldiers at the door were stopped from running toward them by a slippery puddle of soap which had not been there just an instant ago.

He would later be sad not to have enjoyed all that properly. But when he did open his eyes, realizing his time should have run out and hadn't, all he had the time to see was Loki pointing a blaster he had  _not_ been holding a moment before at the confused, already surrendering Sakaarians before the prince simply yelled, “ _Plan C!”_ and jumped over the railing separating them from the arena, with his lips pressed together like he was already regretting his decision. 

Tony, grinning with relief, really didn't see why. Plan C was his favorite out of their emergency plans. He grabbed his serving tray, snapped it in half, and unfolded the resulting pair of short swords with a great circular gesture. He twirled the blades appreciatively; not his best work, but nothing to be ashamed of, considering the lack of material. And really - he would have made do with just a pointy stick, considering how he had dreamed of this.

“Alright, Lipstick.” He pointed his sword at the Grandmaster's neck just as the dictator finally managed to make the second snake let go, and was satisfied to see him immediately raise his hands and begin to stutter. “Tssk, tssk. None of that. Now, say, I just want to be sure I heard right: who were you calling short?”

Down in the arena, he heard the symbiote giving an awful roar, quickly followed by a scream too high-pitched and inhuman to be either of the princes. The symbiote retreated, making a distressed sound reminiscent of an offended chicken. Who'd have thought; Loki had been right about that one, he thought, grinning from ear to ear even as the Grandmaster started insisting that, wow, extraordinary, really impressive, the two of them could be proud, he had not seen it coming. Tony brought the sword a little closer to the bastard's throat to make him shut it.

“I really don't have the time for this. How about you and I get a look at your best spaceships and you only talk when I ask you?”

“Very good. Great idea! That's some very effective-”

“You know, watching that contest of yours, it really puts me in the mood for gruesome deaths.”

“Yes. Right. This way to the ships.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt that inspired this chapter was "AU: Gladiators".
> 
> Don't hesitate to share what you think! =)

**Author's Note:**

> Völundr or Wieland the Smith is a figure of Norse Mythology, appearing in the Poetic Edda in a legend of his own, but having no evident connection to the other gods. My making him appear as a master smith, tutor of Tony, is heavily inspired by PeaceHeather's wonderful fanfictions, most specifically those of the Odinsson, Tyrsson serie. If you haven't already, consider giving it a read, as it features some of the best Asgardian worldbuilding out there and the very comforting idea of Loki getting proper parenting from a caring, reasonable adult who is Done with Odin's nonsense. 
> 
> Part two and three are written and part four is in the works. Hopefully, the whole thing will be posted soon(-ish, considering the 8 months delay, but, ya know). 
> 
> Please feel free to tell me what you thought!


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